


Fire and Ice

by Zhie



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Difficult Decisions, F/M, Flashbacks, Flashforwards, Fëanor tries to be a good boy, M/M, Old School Slash, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:41:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 23,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28864959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: Throwback Fic! Fëanor finds himself returned to Middle-earth to perform one simple task: Convince Elladan and Elrohir to choose their Elven heritage over the race of Men. It should be simple, but hardly anything Fëanor gets involved in is. Meanwhile, Erestor is slowly fading after a badly timed breakup with Arwen, while Elrond makes plans to sail West and Glorfindel tries to hold Imladris together. Written for Storm for the 2006 Secret Santa Slash Swap. Beta - Nuinzilien [There are additions and updates for this 2021 '15 year anniversary' edition]Want to connect with me beyond AO3? Drop by Discord's hottest new nightclub, Bunniverse.  Follow updates to Bunniverse AU fics, my other writings, real life librarian stories, an entire channel dedicated to cheese (yes, the food group), and occasional photos of the animal friends that live in my house.  Fall down the purple rabbit hole at https://discord.gg/CHqptmUnTp
Relationships: Elladan/Surprise, Elrohir/Same Surprise, Erestor/Fëanor | Curufinwë
Comments: 40
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You, as the reader, can make the decision whether the Elladan/Surprise & Elrohir/Surprise is also Elladan/Elrohir/Surprise or not; that is written purposely ambiguous to allow you that freedom. 
> 
> Erestor/Fëanor is non-negotiable. 
> 
> The 'Surprise' above is not Erestor, nor is it Fëanor. It's kind of a part of the plot, though, so it kind of ruins it to tell you up front. It's also not their parents and not any of Fëanor's sons, so if you really need to know in advance, you can probably use process of elimination to figure it out. And if you want it to be a surprise, don't go peeking at the character list.

###  Midsummer’s Day, 3019, Third Age

###  10:25 pm

“Have you seen him at all this evening?” questioned Elrond in a worried voice. Glorfindel, who had been picking at the edges of a cloth napkin and fraying it, shook his head. “I do not like not knowing where he is. Perhaps one of us should take a peek into the gardens.”

Glorfindel knew the request was more of an order than a suggestion, and was willing to excuse himself from the reception to complete the task. He slipped from the grand hall, assuring Arwen he was not leaving the party but simply going outside for some fresh air. Throngs of people clustered here and there even in the streets and garden, making it slightly more difficult for Glorfindel to find the one he was looking for.

Finally, almost passing him by in the darkness, Glorfindel turned around to see Erestor slumped on a bench before a fountain. His friend was dressed in cream and burgundy, his hair decorated with glittering jewels, but the frown he wore was evidence enough that he was far from a festive mood. Glorfindel sat down beside him, placing his hand upon Erestor’s back. “Elrond was wondering where you had gone,” he said softly, rubbing comforting circles between his friend’s shoulder blades.

“I just... had to get out of there,” answered Erestor in a melancholy voice. “I guess... I mean... it really is over now.”

Not knowing what else to say, Glorfindel simply said, “I am sorry.”

Erestor shrugged, sighed heavily, and said, “I would rather not go back, if it is all the same to you. You should, though. I know that Arwen and Estel both want you there, and Elrond needs you, too.”

“I will tell Elrond that you retired for the night.”

“Do not lie to him,” said Erestor. A moment later, he amended his response. “Maybe you should. I know this puts you in a tough spot,” he added.

“Do not worry about me. Honestly.” Glorfindel took hold of one of Erestor’s hands, concerned at how cold it was. “Perhaps you should retire for the night. I hate to think of you sitting out here all alone.”

“If I go back to my room now, I will still hear the merriment from the hall. I prefer to sit here where the sound of the water drowns it out.”

Some ways away, unbeknownst to Glorfindel and Erestor, two concerned Peredhil stood watching the scene. The pair mirrored each other’s splendor, in robes of blue and silver. In order to appear more Elven, they had endured their grandmother’s insistence of pale powder on their faces and hands. This in addition to the fine clothing made them appear to look like a pair of porcelain dolls.

Turning to his younger brother, Elladan said very softly, “This might seem a little wrong to say, today of all days, but I think I would have much rather had Erestor as our brother-in-law than Estel.”

“If it was not to be Erestor, at least it was Estel.” Elrohir bowed his head as he nodded. “You are right. Had it been Erestor... but now, Arwen will fade one day.”

“Not for many years to come,” Elladan reassured his brother. “It does bring up an interesting quandary again.”

Elrohir, still looking at his feet, said now, “I still have not made up my mind.”

“I did not say you had to at this moment.” Elladan’s right hand gently touched his brother’s right shoulder, and Elrohir looked up. “Just think things over when you have a chance, now that we are not at war.”

Long ago, Elladan had vowed to Elrohir that he would make the same choice as his younger brother, whatever that choice might be. Elrohir said it was silly; what if they chose differently as their father and uncle had? ‘But that is exactly why I make this promise to you,’ Elladan had said. ‘I see how sad it makes Adar not to have his brother with him. No matter what, we shall be together, whether it be as Man or as Elf.’

Instead of answering, Elrohir looked to the pair at the fountain again. “Do you think Erestor will fade?”

Elldan squirmed a little. “I should hope not. He had such plans in mind for the future.”

“Those plans all included our sister,” Elrohir reminded his brother.

With a shared sigh, the brothers moved back in the direction of the merriment.


	2. Chapter 2

###  May 11, 121, Fourth Age

###  6:22 pm

  
  


“Really, it was that bad? Oh, poor Erestor!” Celebrían bowed her head and placed a kiss on the top of Erestor’s head. The former chief counselor smiled shyly at the attention. “That must have been devastating for you. Here, have more custard,” she said, spooning out another portion to him.

“I want more, too!” announced her elder son, holding out his bowl. His wrist knocked into a mug of ale, nearly dumping it into Glorfindel’s lap. “Sorry,” he apologized with a grin over his shoulder as the custard was plopped into his bowl.

Elrohir was still working on his first helping, taking small spoonfuls and savoring the dessert. They had only arrived that morning to Valinor, and were subjected to their mother’s cooking almost immediately – and were quite thankful for it, too, after so many weeks of lembas and water aboard the ship. “We were all so worried about Erestor. It was lucky for us all that you arrived,” he said to the ellon sitting across from him.

Fëanor smiled, one hand idly playing with his teacup, the other hidden under the table, holding fast to his lover’s hand. “It was lucky for me as well, I feel.”

“I am amazed you accomplished what you did in only a year’s time.” Celebrían sat down. “It was only a year, was it not?”

“Aye,” said Fëanor. “One year, and so many now to have waited for a reunion.” Looking to the elf beside him, he said, “Oh, but it was well worth the wait.” He lifted Erestor’s hand and brought it to his lips. The gentle kiss made Celebrían smile and give her husband a reminiscent look.

“It was still too long,” said Erestor, who was easily navigating holding Fëanor’s hand with one of his own while still eating the food Celebrían continued to place before anyone whose plate or bowl looked to be in jeopardy of appearing empty.

“All behind us now.” Fëanor sipped his tea again. “As you can see, I am never again letting you go.”

Erestor looked down at their entwined fingers. “It will make getting dressed a challenging affair.”

“I get the feeling if the rest of us were not here, the challenge would not be getting dressed, but getting undressed,” whispered Maedhros to Maglor as Celebrían and Glorfindel discussed the custard recipe.

Maglor grinned and cleared his throat to gain the attention of the others during a lull in the conversation. “How was your return to Middle-earth taken, Atar?” asked Maglor, who had also arrived on the ship which had docked in Valinor that morning.

“Rather well, all things considered,” replied Fëanor. “For one thing, there were no balrogs! ”

After the laughter subsided, Maedhros, the other elf sitting around the large table in Elrond and Celebrían’s house in Valinor, asked, “Would you mind telling us about it, Ata? I enjoy the story myself, and I am sure Maglor wishes to hear it, and now it has a happy ending. I expect others can add their experiences, too.”

“Yes, please,” insisted Glorfindel as well. “Obviously, I know what happened once you reached Imladris, but a year is a year, and there was much to ask and no time to do it. I tried to inquire later, but Círdan would only say that it was an amusing occurrence that broke up the monotony of the day.”

“So I am an amusing occurrence, am I?” asked Fëanor.

“When you consider some of the other names you have been called over the years, that does not seem all that insulting,” reasoned Maglor.

“Besides, if you had been referred to as ‘just another day at the docks’, you would have been equally insulted,” Maedhros told his father as he refreshed his tea.

“Amusing occurrence does have a certain charm, now that I ruminate on it--and I suppose that may not be all too far from the truth,” said Fëanor as he began to retell his part of the tale.


	3. Chapter 3

###  September 29, 3020, Third Age

###  2:36 pm

  
  


Anxiously scanning the shoreline, Fëanor leaned over the rail and tapped his foot impatiently. Below, the water gently lapped against the side of the vessel. The water was clear, and Fëanor could see all the way down to the rocks and silt at the bottom. Silver-blue fish swam in schools, outpacing the ship. Fëanor watched another school dodge and dart around and beyond the oars, which were not in motion. A light breeze was all that carried the sails aloft. “Does this boat not go any faster?” he shouted to the Vala standing on the deck below.

“No matter how swiftly we go, you still have only a single year to complete your task.”

Fëanor let out a long, frustrated sigh that turned into a growl. He knew the Valar were being more than fair to him, but a year still seemed entirely inadequate to accomplish what was needed. In order to redeem himself and gain the release of his six condemned sons from the Halls of Mandos, he had to convince a pair of Half-Elven brothers to choose immortality. He was not allowed to tell anyone of his mission, and so was in Middle-earth under the guise that he had brought a grand vessel that would ferry those who wished to sail to the blessed realm. He was still working out just how to make that sound like a plausible excuse for his sudden appearance.

In the back of his mind, Fëanor had a second reason for wishing to return. One of his sons had never joined him in Námo’s domain, and he held out hope that he might find Canafinwë and bring him home. He had left this out of the negotiations, and certainly said nothing of this to Nerdanel, who had spoken against allowing him to return. Her words had not been the harshest of those who had been present at the trial, but they had hurt the most. 

‘What mother would forsake her children?’ demanded Fëanor during a recess. He did not even wait to try to take her aside. His words left his lips before the room was cleared.

‘I stopped being their mother when you took them from me and convinced them to follow you and not come to me. I stopped being their mother when you got every last one of them to denounce their homeland and take your stupid oath for your stupid stones.’ And those were the last words she had said to him. Following the trial, he tried to find her again, but was told she was already on her way back to her father’s house and told anyone who would listen that she never wished to see him again.

His memories were focused on recalling the hurtful (yet, often true) accounts of family members and friends alike as he waited for the journey to end. His own parents declined to speak on his behalf, and there were few who gave their support. What was offered was thinly veiled in regret, and sometimes seemingly done out of fear. As it continued, one thing was certain--if he was going to be granted leave to return to Middle-earth, slim though the chances were, he would need to do so alone.

Felagund seemed he would be the one to put an end to the idea; his words were strong and well-thought, and his accountings were long, detailed, and absolutely true. Fingon had refused to speak either for or against, but he did attend the day Felagund spoke. The two exchanged looks throughout the trial, and whenever in recess when Felagund was the witness, Fingon would be seen stepping forward, and the two would speak with heads bowed, and glances at silent  Fëanor. 

Then, the unexpected.  Felagund, in his closing, made quiet, passionate remarks about the Dagor Dagorath, and the need for those with a fire to defeat Morgoth once and for all, should such an event come to pass. He spoke of forgiveness, and as he spoke,  Fëanor felt he was being watched. His gaze settled upon  Fingon. The words came from Felagund, but the voice was all Fingon. In the end,  Fëanor’s mission was approved. Before everyone dispersed, Fëanor was able to speak to the pair. His words were simple. ‘Thank you. I appreciate it, considering what happened in the past.’

‘Just do what you can to bring him back,’ said Fingon.

Fëanor nodded. ‘Finding Canafinwë is one of my priorities.’

Fingon raised a brow. ‘I am not talking about Maglor,’ he replied.

A sudden jostle of the boat brought him back to the present, and he saw the harbor ahead. He had not brought much along, but he ran down to retrieve the few belongings from his cabin. Upon hitting land, Oromë directed the crew of Maia he had brought with him to lower a plank so that their guest could leave the ship, but Fëanor did not leave right away. “The count starts the moment my foot touches the sand, is that still the agreement?”

“Aye, it is,” confirmed Oromë.

“Excellent.” Fëanor leaned over the side, looking down at the baffled Elves of Mithlond who were now gathering on the shore. “You there,” he shouted to one. “I am King Fëanor and I have need of a horse.”

A buzz of excitement traveled through the crowd, and other Elves began to join them. Soon, an old Elf with wrinkles at the corners of his eyes came walking down the beach to the ship, stroking his beard with a smile. “If you have come to hunt for silmarils, I regret to inform you that your arrival is belated.”

“Actually, I just want a horse at the moment,” Fëanor shouted down to his old acquaintance. “Do you think you might aid me in that, Círdan?”

Círdan continued to stroke his beard. He looked over the impressive vessel and spied the Vala on board. “If you promise to bring her back, you may ride mine.”

“I promise. I have only a year; she will be returned in precisely one year’s time.”

Círdan nodded, and said something to another Elf who ran off to a cluster of small buildings. “I do know that you keep your word, so you may borrow her. Where are you off to in such a hurry, if I might ask.”

“To a place called Rivendell – which brings me to another question,” he called down. “Might you give me a general idea of which way I am to travel?”

“Come down, and I will show you on my maps,” offered Círdan, but Fëanor declined.

“I have little time and am bound to one year and no more the moment I leave this ship.” Behind Fëanor, Oromë nodded to let Círdan know that this was true.

“I see.” Círdan shooed a few Elves away from where he stood, then used his walking stick to draw a crude map in the sand. “You are here,” he said, stabbing one spot. “Imladris is here.”

“But where is Rivendell?”

“Imladris is Rivendell. I just prefer calling it Imladris. Few get the chance to be contrary to the great Fëanáro.” An Elf returned with a speckled grey mare and Círdan took hold of the reins. “Is there anything more I might do for you, my friend?”

“Nay, I have supplies,” answered Fëanor, hoisting up a pack that had been resting by his feet. “I will be right down.” He looked at Oromë. “One year. I promise.”

“One year. Good luck,” added Oromë.


	4. Chapter 4

May 11, 121, Fourth Age

6:34 pm

  
  


“That hardly seems out of the ordinary,” said Maglor as he sipped his tea, with a smirk on his lips.

“Our father, the Great Fëanor, had suddenly returned. That must have been extraordinary,” argued Maedhros.

“Alright, well, that was only the beginning,” Fëanor said. “Remember, I had to get to Rivendell. Convince some young Peredhel to choose to become immortal. Do it all myself. Have the fate of all seven of my sons resting on me. And, stay out of trouble. I am not sure if that was officially part of it, but it was something Oromë kept repeating. A daunting task, in only one year, with much resting on the results.”

“One we did not make easy for him,” added Elladan with a sly grin.

Elrohir snorted. “We made very little easy for him.”

“Such as?” questioned Celebrían.

“Do you want the list alphabetically or chronologically?” Elrond asked, rubbing his forehead at the memories.

“We were horrid,” Elladan recalled. “Considering how bad we were, we should have realized sooner there was a greater purpose to you being in Imladris.”

“You were beasts,” murmured Erestor, his head resting against Fëanor’s shoulder.

“My favorite was when we poured ink onto the towels when he was bathing and then refolded them so he would not notice right away,” chuckled Elrohir.

“I actually thought the whipped cream in the pillowcase was the most creative idea,” piped up Glorfindel.

Fëanor gave him a withering look. “Do you know how long I was digging dairy cream out of my ear after that?”

“That was positively rude of both of you,” scolded Celebrían, but even she was smiling. “What did you do when I was gone, revert back to being twelve?”

“Actually, we should really be thanking the twins for the whipped cream incident,” said Erestor, who had been relatively quiet. He was tracing his fingertips along Fëanor’s slender fingers, kissing each one after he finished exploring it.

“I am not sure thanking is exactly what I planned to do at the time,” Fëanor said. He was absently fingering one of Erestor’s braids with his free hand.

“Why would you thank them?” asked Maglor. “Oh, wait... if this is what I suddenly realized it might be—“

“No, no, we have no such stories like that,” Fëanor said.

“Not yet,” added Erestor, and Fëanor gave him a sideways smirk. They leaned in and rubbed noses.

“Remember when we were like that?” Celebrían asked Elrond.

“You make it sound as if I forgot how to be romantic.” Elrond got up from his seat and came to where his wife sat. She smirked as he perched himself on her knee, batted his eyelashes, and kissed her nose.

While most everyone laughed and giggled, Elrohir snorted and blurted, “Ew, gross!” 

“Oh, pleasssse,” drawled Elrond over his shoulder as he put his arms around Celebrían’s neck. Another round of laughter covered Fëanor sneaking a kiss to Erestor’s cheek without comment from anyone. 

However, it did not go completely unnoticed, and Erestor looked up to catch Glorfindel watching him with a fond expression. Glorfindel winked; Erestor blushed. 

Maedhros waited patiently as he could, and then insisted, “Well? Are you going to tell us about it or not?”

“If you insist,” answered Fëanor. “I feel as if recompense is still owed.”

“I feel as if you did not come out too badly from our pranks in the end,” Elladan said with a grin.


	5. Chapter 5

November 18, 3020, Third Age

11:05 pm

  
  


As had happened many nights, Fëanor walked Erestor back to his rooms from the library before heading to bed himself. His plans to visit Lothlórien and Eryn Lasgalen had fallen through for the winter, so he now concentrated on the task of converting the twins.

He had a feeling that their constant debates with him had more to do with the fact that he was who he was, and less with the idea that they really wanted to be mortal. In all actuality, he knew for a fact that Elladan preferred Elven life to the life of Men. That meant they had a pact, Fëanor realized, and it was Elrohir he would need to convince.

Not paying much attention as he readied for bed, he lit no candles as he entered the bed chamber. Stripping off his clothing, Fëanor tiredly sat down, not noticing that the covers had not been turned down as far as the maid usually pushed them. He stretched, and yawned, and settled in for the night.

The moment his head hit the pillow, he could tell something was odd about it. It went from fluffed to flat all too quickly, and... was oozing.

Fëanor sat up, fumbling for a candle, feeling cold and wet on his head and down his neck. The light showed him the reason – his pillow had been replaced with a linen bag, split down the middle and filled with cream. The result was a frothy white mess in the bed and on him.

“A million better uses of whipped cream, and they waste it on this,” grumbled the Elda as he extricated himself from the bed. He considered calling a maid to help him clean up, but the thought of spreading that rumor around the valley did not amuse him. No one needed to know that the great Fëanor was being bested over and over by two sneaky Elves--Half-Elves, he reminded himself--who seemed to be trying to run him out of Rivendell. Grabbing a blanket from the end of the bed, he wiped the majority of the cream off of his shoulders and face before entering the bathing chamber to clean himself properly.

To his dismay, the buckets of water had been drained, as had the water from the wash basin for his hands. Not a drop was to be found in any pitcher, and the little pump on the side of the tub squeaked and squawked, but did not pour forth any water.

“Those little...” Fëanor shook his head. Getting angry would not aid him in any way. The only person he could think of to go to for help was probably the one who needed the most help himself, but Fëanor had no other place to go. He quickly donned a robe and headed from his rooms back to the door he had left only minutes ago.

Softly he knocked, not wanting to wake Erestor if he was sleeping. It was only a few moments before the lock slid to the side and the door was opened. “What did you do?”

“What did I do? What did your lord’s sons do?”

Erestor looked Fëanor over, from head to toe. His dark brown hair was positioned at the oddest looking angles, frosted with whipped cream that was either clumping into goo or dripping onto the floor, and there was a dollop of cream on his nose. Erestor did the only thing he could do in such a situation.

He started to laugh.

“Oh, it is truly not THAT funny,” countered Fëanor as he was pulled into Erestor’s room after a number of other occupants of the valley living down the hall on both sides began to come into the corridor to see what exactly had the stoic advisor erupting in a fit of giggles. Fëanor had to admit, though, that it was extremely nice to hear the laughter coming from Erestor rather than the lonely sighs. Soon he was laughing as well as they worked together to remove the whipped cream.

“Take this robe off,” said Erestor, pulling at the belt. “You have cream down your back and no doubt in other places, too.”

“I have nothing on underneath,” scolded Fëanor, tugging his belt away.

Erestor snorted. “Here. I shall even it up, then.” A few moments later he had removed his own robe and tossed it onto a chair. “There. Now take yours off.”

Fëanor stood, staring, stunned. He swallowed hard and felt numb.

“What?”

“Erestor... you are so skinny. When was the last time you ate anything?”

“This morning,” replied Erestor defensively, his hands on his hips, the bones looking as though they might pierce through the skin. His ribs were visible as well, and though he might have eaten, it could not have been very much. “I have always been thin.”

Fëanor shakily placed his hand on Erestor’s shoulder, feeling the bone so close beneath the skin. He had not previously noticed the state that the Ellon was in because of the thick robes and blankets always covering him. Erestor pulled on Fëanor’s belt and removed the robe from the Elda as he was being piteously examined. “You look as if you are starving yourself.”

“Nonsense. I ate three times today,” countered Erestor as the dirty robe slipped off Fëanor’s shoulders. “Wait right here.”

“As if I could go anywhere, naked and covered in whipped cream!” called out Fëanor as Erestor disappeared through a doorway. He returned with a stack of cloths and a bowl of water and began washing the gunk gently from Fëanor’s body. “I am about ready to strangle both of Elrond’s heirs.”

“You should just stay away from them,” Erestor advised.

“If only it was that easy,” muttered Fëanor as Erestor attempted to wipe the muck from his hair.

Erestor frowned and dumped the damp cloth into the water. “Come with me. I need to wash this out of your hair properly.”

Fëanor followed the bony Ellon into the other room, where a chair was pulled up beside the basin for him. He tilted his head back after sitting down and hissed as the cold water rushed through his hair and over his scalp.

“Just one more,” promised Erestor as Fëanor tried to stand up. The second time was not such a shock, and Fëanor patiently let Erestor pat his hair dry with a towel. “Let me get a comb.”

Fëanor was led back into the bedroom, where the pair sat down on the settee. Erestor untangled the brown shoulder-length locks while Fëanor tried not to stare at the emaciated figure of his one true friend in Rivendell. “What did you mean by, if only it were that easy?” Erestor asked.

For a little while, Fëanor was silent. “Can you keep a secret?”

Erestor nodded.

“Alright. Well, I cannot tell you--”

“Tease,” accused Erestor.

“--but if you can guess, then technically, I would not have told you.”

Erestor frowned. “Were you sworn not to tell?”

“I have a mission. But I cannot say what it is.” Fëanor spoke all of his words slowly.

“Something here?” guessed Erestor.

“Clearly,” answered Fëanor. He leaned into Erestor’s touch as his scalp was massaged by the towel.

“Hmm.” Erestor’s fingers slowed as he thought, which made the touches even more pleasurable for Fëanor. “Something to do with Elladan and Elrohir.”

“Obviously,” Fëanor encouraged. “You are really good at this.”

“I would not be in the position I am if I were incompetent,” countered Erestor. “You...seem intent on getting them to come to Valinor.”

“You are amazing,” confirmed Fëanor. 

Erestor draped the towel around Fëanor’s shoulders and reached up to pat his head with a smile. “I know. But, and forgive my ignorance on the answer to this question, why? Why you?”

Fëanor explained his reasons for being sent to Rivendell and what was promised to him in return while his hair was braided, then unbraided when Erestor deemed it looked off, being in braids and being so short.

“Do you know, I think I might be able to aid you with that,” offered Erestor.

“How so?”

“Can you keep a secret?”

Fëanor smiled and nodded.

“All of us want the twins to come to Valinor, and to choose Elvenkind, but no one wants that more than Glorfindel,” explained Erestor. “He was not yet reborn when they were growing up, but when he returned he trained them as warriors as he relearned the art. He grew more and more enamored with them day by day. In some ways, you might almost call them his childhood crush, the second time around. You will never hear him admit it, though. He does not wish to jeopardize his friendship with them or with their father.”

“No wonder he is so grumpy,” remarked Fëanor.

Erestor shrugged. “I have no idea on that. I do know, however, that he would be for you an ally. There. Good as new,” said Erestor, looking almost sad that he had finished his task. His hands were shaking, and Fëanor realized that the slighter elf was shivering.

“I should have made you put that robe right back on,” Fëanor said, berating himself as he pulled a quilt from the bed and brought it to Erestor. Instead of simply wrapping it around the ellon, he used it around both of them, drawing Erestor near. “You are so cold,” he whispered as he took hold of Erestor’s hands and rubbed them frantically. Erestor’s skin felt like ice.

“And you are so warm,” remarked Erestor, snuggling against Fëanor. Almost immediately he sat up, pulling away. “Sorry, sorry, I... sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?” Fëanor slowly reached out again, and inched back over.

“My forward behavior,” Erestor said. “I overstepped the boundaries. You are married, and we are... well, I should not have done that. I have no idea even why I did.”

“I was married,” corrected Fëanor. “My wife, while I was previously deceased, made the decision to remarry.”

“Oh. Still...”

“Erestor.” Fëanor tightly grasped the other ellon’s hands. “Erestor, I am drawn to you in some indescribable way. It feels almost like how I felt when I met Nerdanel, but stronger. Better. I suppose you do not feel this.”

“I think... I may. It just...” Erestor sighed. “Everything feels so cold and distant. I hardly know what is real anymore.”

“We need to get you into the bed. You will be warmer there,” Fëanor decided, and picked Erestor up into his arms. There came no protest as the Ellon was carried to bed and tucked in, nor was there any dispute when Fëanor put out the lights of the candles and crawled in beside his companion, drawing him into his arms for warmth and comfort.


	6. Chapter 6

###  May 11, 121, Fourth Age

###  7:19 pm

  
  


“It almost did not happen like that, though,” said Erestor. “There were a few obstacles to overcome.”

“Oh, so now I am downgraded from best friend to obstacle,” smirked Glorfindel.

“You can be a best friend and also be an obstacle,” reasoned Erestor. After a short while of watching Elrond sitting upon Celebrían’s knee, Fëanor  shyly glanced over at Erestor until he had his attention, then patted his lap and pouted slightly. A few minutes passed;  Fëanor assumed the offer was declined, but was happily surprised after Erestor slid up to share the chair, and even went so far as to rest his head under Fëanor’s chin.

“But an obstacle? Rude,” joked Glorfindel.

“Well, I am an amusing occurrence; the least you can do is be an obstacle,” suggested Fëanor. Perhaps he might have added something more snarky, but it was hard to be upset at events from years past when he was holding his world in his lap, here in Valinor. After more than a century, he was finally snuggling his beloved, and it lowered his desire to sass considerably.

“I am not an obstacle--I am just broad shouldered,” came Glorfindel’s retort. “Perhaps I took my status as a reborn, returned Elf in Middle-earth more seriously than even I realized.”

“You had every right and responsibility to be concerned about Imladris--and Middle-earth,” assured Elrohir.

Elladan nodded as well. “Sauron might have been gone, but who knew what else could have happened.”

Fëanor frowned to be considered in the same realm as Sauron, but it was hard to come up with a witty comeback to what was being said when there was such a handsome man cuddled against him. Instead, he hid his disapproval by nuzzling the top of Erestor’s head and kissing his dark hair.

Maglor scraped the rest of the custard into his bowl while Maedhos stole a spoonful from it. “How difficult of an obstacle were you for my Atar, Glorfindel?” asked Maglor.

“I think it started a few days after he arrived,” replied the slayer, but Elrond shook his head.

“It started almost immediately. I nearly thought another kinslaying would occur,” Elrond said. “At the very least, I was preparing myself for the potential increase needed of my services.”

“Well, you tell the story then,” said Glorfindel, refilling his teacup, “and I will fill in the details.”


	7. Chapter 7

###  October 20, 3020, Third Age

###  10:21 am

  
  


“I wish Erestor was well enough to join us. His counsel was always of great value to me.” Elrond and Glorfindel had returned from a ride outside of the valley, only to find that a guest of great importance was awaiting them and had been brought to Elrond’s office to await their return. Elrond was handing off gloves to a page, whom he waved off. The youth had come to inform them that Master Erestor was declining the opportunity, but wished them well. 

Glorfindel nodded in agreement, and sighed. For over a year, their friend had fallen deeper and deeper into a pit of melancholy. Erestor no longer came to the Hall of Fire, and ate little at mealtime. Sometimes he slept for days, and sometimes he simply wandered the house without purpose, a glassy look in his eyes, barely noticing others walking past. On more than one occasion, Glorfindel had summoned maids and directed Erestor to bathe, often needing their assistance as he was but a ragdoll in the basin. Most often, Glorfindel would find the once talkative Elf sitting at the fireplace in the library mumbling to himself.

The first time it had happened, Glorfindel had sent for Elrond. Unable to gain Erestor’s attention, the Elf-lord had decided to drug Erestor and put him to bed. Erestor slept for four straight days. The second time Glorfindel came upon Erestor, he left him be after meeting his empty, forlorn gaze that shook him to his core.

Elrond and his Seneschal entered the office of the former to find their guest sitting behind Elrond’s desk with his feet propped upon it. Fëanor was reading a book he had found on the desk as he waited. It appeared to be one of the manuscripts left by Bilbo to be reviewed by Elrond for accuracy. Upon hearing Elrond clear his throat, Fëanor looked up but did not put the book down. “Good. I was wondering when you would finally get here. It appears this was being edited, so I took the liberty of fixing all of the places where the Þ is missing. ”

Clearing his throat, Elrond looked pointedly at where Fëanor was sitting. The Elda looked about for a moment, and then gave the other two Elves a look of realization. “Please, sit down. No need to stand on my account,” Fëanor said, waving to the pair of chairs on the other side of the desk.

Narrowing his eyes, Glorfindel glared at Fëanor. “He would take his seat if someone were not sitting in it.”

“No, Findel, it is alright,” said Elrond, though it was obviously not from the way he had to stop gritting his teeth to speak. “This chair is fine.” Elrond eased himself down slowly into one of the other seats. Glorfindel closed the door and sat with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at Fëanor.

“I will get right to it,” said Fëanor. “I am Fëanor.”

“Yes, we were informed,” said Elrond curtly. 

“It is the only reason I did not dump you out of his chair,” said Glorfindel in the deepest, gruffest tone he could conjure.

Elrond lifted his hand to signal peace before Fëanor could issue a retort. “We are honored to have you here in our home, and welcome you to stay as long as you desire.”

Glorfindel’s expression did not exactly speak of being honored as Elrond said.

“I have but a year to complete my mission,” said Fëanor. “I bring great news from the Valar.”

Before more could be said, Glorfindel stepped closer and set a hand upon Elrond’s shoulder. “A word, m’lord.”

Elrond lifted a brow, for Glorfindel rarely saw fit to address Elrond by any title, and so he looked to Fëanor. “Will you excuse us please?”

Fëanor picked up the book again and dismissed them with the same sort of wave Elrond had given the page. For a moment, it looked as if Elrond was about to speak, but he calmly stood and followed Glorfindel to the hallway. Once the door was closed, Glorfindel said, “I do not like this--it feels wrong. Fëanor, a messenger of the Valar? Nonsense! And Erestor would say the same; if only he was not fading away and could be summoned to attend this matter with us.”

“Shh--lower your voice,” said Elrond. “I received a letter from Círdan. He is who he says.”

“A letter? This is the first I have heard of it,” said Glorfindel.

“You have been tending to Erestor’s needs, and for that, I am in your debt,” whispered Elrond. “I did not expect him to arrive so quickly; the letter only arrived this morning. That was why I needed to go riding--to clear my head. In some respects, the man in there could easily be considered my adoptive grandfather. I meant to tell you when we were out, but when the page came to find us, I did not wish to divulge the information in front of her. I hope you understand. Besides, I did not expect you would take the news particularly well.”

Glorfindel snorted.

“Shall we find out why he is here?”

“I am more interested in how quickly we can get him to leave,” mumbled Glorfindel before they opened the door and went back inside.

The meeting was brief, and after Fëanor explained that he was to gather those who wished to sail to Aman, he was offered a room in the Homely House. He rose from the chair, picking up the book he had been browsing and editing. “So, who is fading?”

“Who said anyone was fading?” asked Glorfindel quickly.

“I just assumed—“

“Perhaps you should stop and think instead of jumping to conclusions,” snapped the slayer back, snatching away the book.

Elrond held up his hand in order to make peace. “My chief counselor.”

“Ah. Close to you, is he?” asked Fëanor, more to Glorfindel than Elrond.

“A very good friend,” Glorfindel finally admitted.

“What is his name? Perhaps I could speak to him,” Fëanor offered.

Giving Fëanor a deep frown, Elrond said, “I do not think that is such a good idea.”

“Oh? Really, I would not mind. The...topic of fading is...quite personal to me,” admitted Fëanor. 

“I think it best you leave him alone,” suggested Glorfindel.

Fëanor opened his mouth to object, but thought better of it. “Alright,” he said. “I think I shall take my leave, then. It has been a long journey and I am tired.”

When Fëanor left, however, he did not escape immediately to his rooms. He wandered about the house, inquiring as to who was who, why a Mister Baggins was unaware of when one should use Þ, and finding out who was where in the other Elven Realms. To his dismay, besides Círdan and Glorfindel, the only other Elves he knew of in Middle-earth were his niece Artanis, known now as Galadriel, and his illusive son Canafinwë, referred to by everyone as Maglor.

He learned, too, of those he did not know before, of Elladan and Elrohir, the twin sons of Elrond, who had yet to make the decision of their fate. Upon entering the library, he learned of the unfortunate chief counselor who had fallen in love with the lord’s daughter, only to have her leave him for the love of a Man. Shaking his head, he went to his room to plot out his course of action.

While Fëanor explored, Elrond and Glorfindel stayed in the lord’s office, discussing the unexpected event. “I do not like him,” admitted Glorfindel. “I do not trust him. My parents thought he knew exactly what he was talking about when he went against the Valar. Then he burned the ships that were to be sent back to bring us to Middle-earth. We had to trek the Helcaraxë, and in the process, I lost both of my parents and my sister. He has no concern for anyone but himself.”

“I would like to think he has changed, that maybe the time he spent in the Halls of Waiting have made him reconsider things.”

“Still, Elrond. Be cautious,” advised Glorfindel as he set the manuscript back down upon Elrond’s desk. “He is not being entirely upfront with us. There is something else he wants, some other task he has to complete. He swore an oath, Elrond. The silmarils, remember?”

“The silmarils are lost,” said Elrond, too quickly.

“Two of them are lost. The third is in the sky, and you, the heir to the one who is keeping it there.”

Elrond sunk down into his chair. “I never considered that,” he said.

“That is why you have me here to think of such things,” said Glorfindel, though he wished Erestor had been there to offer his thoughts as well.

“Glorfindel, I do not worry as much about myself as I do about my children. I intend to keep an eye on Fëanor; I would ask you do the same, but with my sons.”

“Both eyes,” Glorfindel assured him.


	8. Chapter 8

###  October 25, 3020, Third Age

###  9:42 pm

  
  


“Shut up, just shut up. Shut it. Not going with you, not now, not interested. She is not worth it. Not at all.”

From afar it might have sounded as if the Elf at the fire was having a conversation with someone else, but upon further inspection Fëanor noticed that there was only one person at the fire. He appeared to be mumbling to himself as he stared into the flames. It was as he approached that Fëanor felt rather than saw the one being addressed.

Fëanor sat down in the empty leather chair and waited for the other elf to notice him. It did not take very long.

“You cannot make me, you know. Vala or not, I do not care. I am staying here, right here, right where I want... to... who are you?” asked the Elf as he suddenly took note of the fact there was another occupant in his space.

“Well met; my name is Fëanor,” said the Elda, and the elf who had been mumbling frowned. “I suppose you have heard of me.”

“It would surprise me to know anyone who had not.” The Elf turned back to the fire.

Fëanor waited a few moments before clearing his throat. “Do I get to learn your name?”

Tired eyes fell back upon Fëanor. “Erestor.” They shifted immediately back to the flames.

“A pleasure,” said Fëanor as Erestor snorted. “Come now; you do not believe me?”

“That the great and mighty Fëanor would have any care one way or another that he had met me or not? That he should have any care to speak with a lowly scholar such as myself, and one who prefers Sindarin over Quenya not because it is easier or prettier but because it is the right thing, when one considers the history of relations between Elves of the West and those of us here in the East? Nay.”

Fëanor bristled a bit, but held his tongue. He had received mixed reception from those living here, but Erestor’s greeting was frigidly cold. “I have changed,” Fëanor offered. “I have come back to prove that.”

“And if you prove it, what do you get? One of your precious silmarils?”

“No. Something far more precious than those. Something I should have recognized was more important than the silmarils. I get six of my sons back from death.”

“Oh.” Erestor rubbed his eyes and sighed. “Sorry.”

“Not a problem; I take no offense. I might have, at one time.” Fëanor motioned to the fire and asked, “Speaking of death, how is Námo doing these days?” and at once the other presence he felt in the room vanished.

Erestor looked about, as if disbelieving. “How did you make him go away? He never goes when I ask him to.”

With a wry smile, Fëanor said, “I was a bit of a challenge for him, and for quite a long while, both in death and in life. He probably has had more than his fill of me. It surprises me that you are fighting the fading. Most Elves who are fading fade because they want to fade.”

“I thought I wanted to, but—“

“But you changed your mind and now you are afraid.”

“Something like that,” admitted Erestor. “How did you know I am fading?”

“Besides the fact that you were speaking to Námo?”

“Oh, right...”

Fëanor rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. “My mother was the first to fade, ever. She set the precedent, you might say. I just... I just know. I could tell, from the way you look. Pale, and hopeless, tired, and drained. Want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Alright. Mind if I stay?”

“If you like.”

The pair was quiet for a bit, with the crackling fire the only noise in the room. When the room began to darken substantially from the dying of the embers, Fëanor added another log. On his way back, he took a blanket from the back of the chair he had been in and draped it around Erestor’s shoulders, for even with multiple wraps, he was shivering. 

Erestor adjusted it without looking up, draping it down over his knees and grasping the edges to pull it closer. “There is a book in here titled ‘A Stitch in Time’. It has patterns for needlepoint. An entire chapter is dedicated to your mother. It goes over her life before Valinor, and the different items she used on the journey for needles. There are accounts from people who knew her, but never traveled the entire journey, and from some who came back here at the beginning of the First Age. I believe it was salvaged from a hoard that came from Doriath and was reclaimed from an orc camp.”

“I would love to read that sometime,” said Fëanor. “One of the great regrets I have from my former life is that I never took time to learn the craft of my mother.”

“I could teach you,” offered Erestor. He was still staring at the fire.

“You know needlecraft?” Fëanor hoped he sounded as impressed as he was; he was tired and had tried to keep his voice down, both on account of the time and on them sitting in a library.

“Why do you think I read ‘A Stitch in Time’?”

“I would be most honored,” said Fëanor.

Erestor nodded. “We start tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Fëanor had a bemused smile on his lips.

“Unless you are busy with--”

“No. Not at all,” replied Fëanor quickly. “I look forward to it.”

Glorfindel watched warily from the doorway, upset more at Elrond for not keeping better track of their guest than he was at Fëanor himself. He dodged away after plans were made and Fëanor offered to walk Erestor back to his room once he was ready to leave. This was a development Glorfindel was keen to keep an eye on.


	9. Chapter 9

###  October 26, 3020, Third Age

###  3:22 am

  
  


“What were you doing in there?”

Fëanor turned around, having just left Erestor’s room. Glorfindel was leaning against the wall in the shadows, arms crossed over his chest. “Very early for you to be up already for breakfast, Glorfindel.”

The slayer narrowed his eyes. “Who said I was able to sleep? Now, I would appreciate an answer to my question.”

“Putting your chief counselor to bed. It seems he has favored lapsing into bouts of unconsciousness when he tires and stays by the fire in the library. A very uncomfortable place to fall asleep.” Fëanor began to walk away, down the hall once more. “I thought it best to bring him back here to his room to be sure he made it to bed, and now if you will excuse me, I have plans to retire myself.”

“Stay away from him.”

Curiously, Fëanor turned around. “Why? What difference is it to you?” Sneaking a brow upwards, he asked, “Are you in love with him or something?” recalling Glorfindel’s preference for males. It was just one of the many tidbits he had gathered from Lindir and Melpomaen, a talkative minstrel and his slightly less talkative though equally charismatic scribe friend. The pair had been good enough to indulge him with answers to questions, unlike most in the valley. Indeed, they reminded him very much of his sons--not a particular pair, exactly, but the youthfulness and camaraderie paired with light jesting had been refreshing to most of the residents he had encountered.

“I love him as I would a brother,” growled Glorfindel. “I will not see him hurt by someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” 

“You know what I mean, kinslayer.”

Fëanor frowned.

“Some of us remember the First Age. Some of us will never forget,” Glorfindel warned.

“What reason would I have to harm your friend?” Fëanor walked back to Glorfindel, and crossed his arms over his chest this time. “Let me be blunt, for you are already doing so. I know what it is like in the Halls of Waiting. The feel of Mandos is still with me. Trust me, it is not a place anyone should be subjected to if it can be helped.”

Glorfindel threw back his head and laughed, much to Fëanor’s confusion. “You still think you know everything,” he shot back. “Trust me, I know exactly what the Halls of Waiting feel like.”

“What are you talking about?” demanded Fëanor.

“I know well as you, the taste of death. You were not the only one to be sent to Mandos by the will of a balrog. Unlike you, however, my death saved many who otherwise would have been cast off a mountain to their doom or burned alive. I was sent back, obviously, after a short time to collect my thoughts and come to terms with various things.”

“I had no idea,” said Fëanor quietly. “I apologize.”

Glorfindel snorted. “A little late for that,” he said as he pushed past and disappeared around the corner.


	10. Chapter 10

October 26, 3020, Third Age  
6:17 pm

  
“May I join you?”

Erestor looked up as he pulled the blanket closer to him. There were fresh logs in the fire. The blanket around Erestor’s shoulders was different from the one Fëanor had draped over him the previous night. This one was very cheerfully colored, shades of green with tiny golden flowers embroidered around the edges. “You again?”

Fëanor tried to be as warm and cheerful as he could. “Is that yes or no?”

“The seat is empty and I cannot stop you,” replied the counselor.

Fëanor remained standing, holding a tray. “I looked for you earlier. I was told you were unavailable. I was still hoping you might have an interest in teaching me your craft. I found the book you told me about yesterday. I read the chapter about my mother--it was fascinating.”

“Good. I am sure you can learn much from the book. You certainly do not need me,” said Erestor.

With a frown, Fëanor finally sat down. “I brought hot tea,” said Fëanor as he placed the tray he was holding on the table between them. “There are biscuits and raspberry jam as well; the cook said those were your favorite. Lemon tea and biscuits with jam.” Fëanor was unsure if Erestor nodded or if he happened to shiver at that moment, for the movement was so slight. Hoping for the former, he spread jam upon a number of biscuits, and then poured tea for both of them. “Has he been back?”

“Who?”

Fëanor nodded to the fire.

“Oh... no. I think you scared him away.”

“For now, perhaps.” Fëanor held a cup of tea to Erestor, who snaked a hand out from his little nest to take it. “When was the last time you actually had a good night of sleep, besides last night?”

Erestor turned the cup around and around in his hands. “I... I still do not think I am ready to discuss that.”

“I understand.” Fëanor sipped his tea and then asked, “Did you sleep well last night at least?”

“About that... there was no need for you to do as you did. How did you find out where my rooms were anyway?”

“I asked a passing scullery maid. What should I have done, left you sleeping in this chair?”

“Yes. I do not feel like being carried down the hallway like a small child. I will be enduring the snickers for weeks,” said Erestor coldly.

“Better you be alive and able to hear the snickers than dead and unknowing of them.”

“You picked me up without my consent. You entered my rooms without asking. You were inside far longer than needed to place me on my bed,” accused Erestor. 

“I tucked you in,” said Fëanor numbly. “I took off your shoes, and I made sure there was a fire for you to keep the room warm.”

“You did not need an hour for all of that.”

Fëanor’s gaze fell upon the blanket that swaddled Erestor. It was too snuggly tucked around him for it to have been done himself. “How many of those words are yours, and how many of them belong to Glorfindel?”

Erestor looked down at the flames. “He takes care of me.”

“And that is an exclusive position?” When Erestor did not answer, Fëanor continued. “I would also like to be your friend.”

“Why?”

Fëanor sipped his tea in order to give himself time to sort out the answer. Before he could swallow, Erestor was speaking again.

“Because you are bored and I amuse you? Because I am a curiosity and you have nothing better to do? Because you have to prove you are a better person now and I am a project?”

“Because you have an aura of loneliness. Because you have already said you wish not to fade, but you sit here. Maybe I am being a little selfish--you seem lonely, I am lonely.” Fëanor paused to let his own words wash over him. “Maybe we can at least be lonely together, if nothing else.”

“That was not what I was expecting,” Erestor said quietly.

“I can lie and make up something that sounds better and less depressing,” offered Fëanor.

Erestor actually smiled. “No, I prefer your honesty.” Erestor sniffed the tea. “I do not think Glorfindel likes you.”

“Most people do not.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Besides being arrogant, egotistical, a kinslayer, an anarchist, a--”

“Hold on. How can you be an anarchist?”

“Are you aware of what I told the Valar before I came to Middle-earth?” asked Fëanor.

“Of course. Your speeches are in every general history book. But you are royalty,” pointed out Erestor. “You benefit from the hierarchy.”

“Not anymore.” Fëanor added tea to his cup to warm it up. “I removed myself from the monarchy. My son did what I should have done earlier. My brothers and sisters can figure it out amongst themselves.”

“Was that a condition for your return?” asked Erestor.

“No. I did it, on my own. No one coerced me. I did a lot of things you might find surprising. No one has asked me how it is that I can speak Sindarin without an accent.”

“Oh, you have an accent.”

Fëanor frowned. “I do?”

“You have an accent, and you keep dropping in Þ without realizing it. Or maybe you do realize it.”

“Old habits die hard,” said Fëanor.

“I would not worry about it. I find it--” Erestor cut himself off.

Fëanor coughed. “Annoying?”

“Endearing. So how did you manage to learn the language?” asked Erestor.

“In the Halls of Waiting,” said Fëanor, wondering if he was reading too much into the tinge of rose on Erestor’s cheeks. “I actually apologized to Elu Thingol for the actions of my sons, and asked if he would teach me.”

“Elu Thingol taught you to speak Sindarin?”

“No. Elu Thingol told me to fuck off.”

Erestor could not help but laugh. “So, who did teach you?”

“My sons. A picked up a little from listening to others, but most of the time if people knew I was around, they would go somewhere else.” Fëanor stirred a little honey into his tea. “I tried to leave my sons alone as much as possible. There were...people who could only rest if they felt they had…” Fëanor stared into the fire. “I deserved all of it.”

“You were not allowed rest or peace,” guessed Erestor. “Was that part of why you were released?”

“The Halls of Waiting are immense, but they are not neverending. I stopped trying to find places to hide. I actually asked at one point if I could be sent to the Void. Compared to the Halls, it sounded nice.”

“I am sorry,” said Erestor. “That is why you are not deterred by the behavior from myself--or Glorfindel.”

“The two of you are refreshing compared to what I was subjected to,” said Fëanor. “I really do hope we can be friends, and I would not mind being friends with Glorfindel as well.”

Erestor set the tea aside and burrowed further into his blanket. “If you plan to carry me back to my rooms in the future, please wake me up first,” requested Erestor. “I can walk on my own; I would like to make the attempt to be independent when I can.”

“Noted. What should I do if I am unable to wake you? Get Glorfindel?”

Slowly, Erestor shook his head. “No, I think you have proven that you mean to help, and I appreciate that. You are not the only one to be in a realm where you are unable to leave and find yourself subjected to the opinions of others.” Erestor cleared his throat. “I apologize for breaking my promise to instruct you in needlework today. If you are free tomorrow, I would gladly meet with you tomorrow.”

“I would like that very much,” said Fëanor. 


	11. Chapter 11

###  October 27, 3020, Third Age

###  2:02 pm

  
  


Glorfindel had paced outside of Erestor’s door at 8:00 a.m. He did the same at 9:45, 10:20, 11:35, and 1:15. The bells announcing 2:00 p.m. had just finished ringing, and he gritted his teeth as he heard laughter in the room again. He marched up to the door as he had a few times earlier that day, but this time he rapped his knuckles firmly and waited.

A few moments passed before a voice called out for him to enter. Glorfindel let himself in, and Erestor waved to him. “I thought it was you--well, I hoped it was you and not someone pretending to be you.”

“How did you know that?” asked Glorfindel suspiciously.

“You are rather tall,” said Erestor. He was sitting at a table where there was a piece of fine linen stretched out before him on a scrolling frame that allowed him to easily move back and forth along the cloth. “You knock high on the door. Is everything alright?” he asked as Glorfindel slowly entered, gaze sweeping the room.

“I thought…” Glorfindel cut himself off from saying he thought he had heard HIM, but seeing no one else, assumed Erestor was either talking to himself or--

But his initial instinct would prove correct a moment later when  Fëanor entered from another room. There was a little gauze wrapped around two of his fingers. “Oh! Good day, Glorfindel. You are just in time to watch me masterfully not stab myself again.”

Erestor laughed. “You are getting better.”

“I will not need any red thread if I keep up this way. I will just bleed on the canvas.” Fëanor sat down on the other side of the table, and only now did Glorfindel see that the frame was set up so that they could both work on the same piece. “What brings you here this afternoon, Glorfindel?” 

Glorfindel’s expression was similar to that of a mad bull. “Fëanor, a word please. In the hall.” His tone made it evident that this was not a request.

“Whatever you want to tell him you can say in front of me,” said Erestor.

Caught off guard, Glorfindel tried to devise an effective retort that did not sound petty, but stood in the doorway with his mouth moving like a fish out of water. “Fine,” he finally said. “I do not think this is healthy.”

Fëanor looked at his injured fingers. “I did not bleed that much. I do not think I shall succumb.”

Erestor snorted. 

“That was not what I meant,” scolded Glorfindel.

“Here,” offered Erestor, holding out his hand. “Let me see your war wounds.” Fëanor stretched his arm across the table, and Erestor kissed both bandaged fingers. “There. That will help make it better.”

“Erestor!” GLorfindel was even shocked at the pitch of his voice. “A word. Now. In the hall.” He wagged a finger at Fëanor. “You stay right there!”

Erestor cleared his throat and almost looked like he was going to argue, but he stood up, pulling the shawl around his shoulders closer. “Fëanor, while I am gone, I want you to practice threading needles again.”

“Ooh...I hate that part,” he whined a little.

“Necessary evil,” said Erestor. “If you can thread five of them before I get back, I think I can convince a page to steal some chocolate cake from the kitchens for us before supper.”

“That is tempting,” mumbled Fëanor as he measured out a length of gold thread.

“Try not to stab yourself this time,” said Erestor before he shut the door behind him. As he stood with his back against the door, he said to Glofindel, “Honestly, he gets himself stuck with them like fishhooks. I have never seen someone so all thumbs over needlepoint before, which I was not expecting with his jewelering background, but it is a different skill. He is trying very hard, though.”

“Erestor, listen to yourself. You are gushing about him and flirting with him!”

“I am not,” argued Erestor, but it was not very convincing, and he followed it with, “Maybe just a little. Why do you care?”

“I care because--think of who that is! He is married,” hissed Glorfindel.

“So? You do not see me bending him over a chair in there,” shot Erestor back, and Glorfindel waved that they should keep their voices down. “Glorfindel. I am a grown ass man. I can flirt with other grown ass people, and guess what? It does not need to be sexual!”

“Shhh!” Glorfindel was beet red. “Erestor, I am just worried about you. In your condition--”

“Glorfindel. I am fading. Let us not call it something it is not. Maybe I can pull myself out of it, and maybe not, but either way, why do you care if I flirt with Fëanor? It does not mean anything--you saw him in there, he cannot even tell. I do not even know why I am doing it. Maybe...just to have a bit of time of feeling...lighter than I have in a while,” said Erestor. 

“I just worry about you. Because I care.” Glorfindel sighed. “And I do not want you to fade. I do not want to lose you.”

Erestor gave Glorfindel a hug. “You are a true friend, Glorfindel. I appreciate you.” Erestor stood back. “I am just teaching him how to do needlepoint. And I think you know that.”

“What do you mean?”

“We heard you pacing out here all day.”

Glorfindel’s shoulders slumped. “I do not want you hurt again.”

“I am not setting myself up for that. I am just enjoying a new friendship with someone who does not already know the few jokes I tell over and over and who is less skilled than I am.” Erestor lowered his voice. “You know, it is awfully fun to know how to do something better than Fëanor.”

Glorfindel smirked. “Alright. I will do my best not to interfere.”

“And I give you my full permission to punch him if he hurts me--but only if I tell you he did,” said Erestor. He had lifted his arm to point up at Glorfindel’s nose, and this caused his shawl to slip. He shuddered at the cold and scrambled to pull the cloth back up. 

“Just...be careful,” said Glorfindel. He kissed Erestor’s forehead before Erestor went back into his suite and smiled sadly after the door closed. 


	12. Chapter 12

###  May 11, 121, Fourth Age

###  8:40 pm

  
  


“I never knew how close I was to death,” Erestor admitted. The group had retired to the parlor, where brandy and wine had replaced the tea and milk. The atmosphere was slightly more relaxed, with a fire blazing and sending a trail of smoke up the chimney.

Fëanor’s arms drew his love closer, and he kissed Erestor’s cheek. “I might have acted sooner had I known. I really should have known. But that is behind us, and you made a full recovery.”

“That was thanks to you,” said Erestor. “I am curious, though. Were you able to tell I was flirting with you that early?”

“Nnnnnooo... you see, I was still adjusting to having a physical form again. I had to relearn body language and facial expressions, and even things like irony and sarcasm,” explained Fëanor. “Eventually, I started to catch on that something might have been going on, but even then, I was not entirely sure. It was a good thing you admitted it to me, or we might have just continued on--not that I have any regrets about that part of our relationship, and how it was. Learning needlecraft from you taught me greater patience, and I actually finished projects with you guiding me. I cannot tell you how many times I started a project and left it abandoned to start something else back in days long past.”

Erestor rested his head upon Fëanor’s shoulder. “So, when I asked you to go stargazing with me to see the full moon and have a midnight picnic, you suspected nothing?”

“I thought you did not like crowds.”

Snuggling himself closer, Erestor asked, “What about the day we were sitting in the library reading, and I told you the fire was not sufficient and got you to sit next to me for extra warmth?” 

“It seemed like a logical solution,” Fëanor said.

“And when I told you one day I wanted to go to the baths, and that we could request a private pool to use so that we could speak without having others interrupt us, and kept you there, naked in the warm water with me all afternoon?”

Everyone else in the room was smiling or smirking.

Fëanor kissed Erestor’s nose. “That particular incident was highly suspect. It was not the overall experience--just the part when you told me we should not waste the water and should wash each others’ backs. That made me pause.”

“Still got you to do it,” recalled Erestor slyly.

“Yes, you did.” Erestor congratulated him with a kiss on the cheek and a hug.   
  


“I love how our very proper Erestor managed to get someone naked in a pool of water before they had the thought of ‘hmm, is he flirting with me?’,” said Elrohir. “Obviously on account of his smooth diplomatic skills.”

“Fëanor started taking Erestor out of the house, making him get out into the sunshine and the moonlight. They would go swimming in the river or riding through the valley,” Elladan remembered. “They came to meals together, and always Fëanor would make sure Erestor ate, including dessert.”

“Forced to eat dessert! Our Erestor?” giggled Celebrían.

Erestor nodded. “Odd as it sounds, it is true. It started much simpler, though.”


	13. Chapter 13

###  November 19, 3020, Third Age

###  9:44 am

  
  


“Breakfast is served,” announced Fëanor as he set a tray atop a table he had pulled up to the bed. There was a chair as well, and Erestor sat up and rubbed at his bleary eyes while Fëanor sat down and poured juice for each of them from a pitcher.

Erestor reached for a muffin, and flinched to hear his stomach growl. “Good morning,” he said, forgoing butter and biting right into the breakfast treat.

“Here, start with this,” said Fëanor, holding out a bowl of oatmeal. “I added a little honey to it, and there are berries if you like those, too. Eat slow, though. You might get sick otherwise.”

“I hate oatmeal,” said Erestor, crinkling his nose.

“I saw what passed for oatmeal in the kitchen. I made this,” declared Fëanor. “You cannot keep eating what amounts to dessert all the time. In fact, I think that is part of the problem.”

“What problem?”

“The fading and all of that. You are malnourished and underfed. Part of your shaking might well be all of the sweets you think constitute a balanced meal,” said Fëanor, attempting to be gentle but sounding more like a scholarly lecturer.

“Elrond said I could have whatever I want, and he is a healer,” retorted Erestor.

“If Elrond was mostly raised by my two eldest, as is my understanding, I can certainly buy he would allow for someone to eat treats all day and call it well enough,” said Fëanor. “Erestor, look at me, please,” insisted Fëanor when Erestor turned away and nibbled on the muffin. “Erestor, I care about your health, and I want you to recover, and part of that is taking care of yourself, and if you will not, then I will.”

“Why?” Erestor only flicked his gaze at Fëanor momentarily.

Fëanor tried to stare him down, but it was hard to stare down a rabbit nibbling a muffin. “Because someone honestly should, and... as adorable as you look doing that, getting crumbs all in the bed--”

“Oh, bother.” Erestor looked down at the bits of muffin strewn on the sheet.

“--it is not going to help with your constitution. I want you to be able to walk the flights of stairs without getting winded, and make it to afternoon tea without drifting off in your chair. And I like to think I have observed enough from the time we have been spending together.”

“You make excellent points,” conceded Erestor. “I still hate oatmeal.”

Fëanor rolled his eyes.  “Are you allergic to it?” 

“No.”

“Does it make you ill?” prodded  Fëanor.

“No.”

He thrust the bowl at Erestor. “Eat it.”

Erestor pulled his muffin closer, in the case that Fëanor might take it away. “No.”

Lunging forward, Fëanor grabbed the muffin away, and dumped it on top of the oatmeal. As Erestor stared with his mouth agape, Fëanor mushed the oats and muffin together, stirring it into a sort of brownish goop. “Eat,” he commanded, handing it back. 

With a pout on his face, Erestor ate the odd mixture, following that with a handful of the berries, refusing out of spite to engage in the conversation Fëanor was attempting to hold until he was done eating. “The last time I was made to eat, I was no taller than my father’s knee,” he said as the empty bowl was taken from him.

“Drink this,” added Fëanor, having poured a small dose of miruvor from a flask. Erestor did as told, and Fëanor pushed the table away before crawling back into bed with him. “I stayed awake, thinking about you last night,” he said, holding Erestor close before he had time to shiver.

The warmth felt good, and Erestor nuzzled against the crook of Fëanor’s neck. He felt it was earned after his concession, whether Fëanor intended to be intimate or just wanted to comfort him. “And you came to the conclusion you would torture me this morning with oatmeal?”

“Trust me, had I wanted to torture you, I have better ideas than oatmeal.” Fëanor kissed Erestor’s brow and said, “I am going to help you to get well again. You do not want to fade. I know this.”

“I did, once,” Erestor said softly. “I was betrothed, some years ago, to a lady of this house. We had plans for a life together.”

“Did she... pass away?” Fëanor asked. He knew a few things from rumors, but worried if Erestor knew he had nosed around early that he could take it the wrong way, and so he feigned uncertainty. 

Erestor sighed. “No. She fell in love with a Man, though that happened after we parted. She became very, very caught up in planning our wedding, which took a phenomenal four hundred and eighty years before I finally asked her if we were ever going to actually make it to the wedding with how long it was taking. She decided we needed time apart and went to Lothlorien. Her mother, after six years of letters to her, decided to go and talk some sense into her.

“She never made it. Orcs attacked her party, and a year later she sailed to Valinor. Of course, it was decided that I was to blame, and the engagement was called off.”

“It sounds as if she was just looking for an excuse to break things off with you,” said Fëanor.

“I loved her. When she claimed to have fallen in love with a Man, I laughed. I thought, it could not be true. It was only a phase. But, I was wrong,” said Erestor. “She is married to him now.”

“How can you pine away for her?” questioned Fëanor, stroking Erestor’s hair. “Obviously, you were not meant to be together.”

“You have no idea... we were so in love with each other once,” replied Erestor, fighting back tears.

“What is her name?”

“Arwen.”

“Elrond’s daughter?”

“The same.” Erestor closed his eyes and nestled closer. “I feel so stupid.”

“That you held on to hope for so long?”

Snorting, Erestor said, “That I am telling you these things.”

“Alright, fair enough... let me tell you what happened to me. I was released from the Halls of Waiting, only to find that my wife had decided not to wait for me. I went to her, begged for forgiveness, and told her how much I loved her.” Fëanor rolled over onto his back, throwing his arm over his eyes. “She nodded, invited me into her home, and introduced me to her new husband. Then she told me she felt she no longer loved me, and that I should think to seek out someone else to share my second life with. 

“I was shocked, to say the least, and greatly hurt. My father had taken a second wife, I thought I would never deal again with such a thing, and she does to me what was done to my mother. At first I was outraged--happily ever after, it is all a lie. It should be happily ever so short of a time until someone moves on...or something...” Fëanor sighed. “It took me a long time to reconcile that...I am still bitter, I suppose. It took me even longer to realize I was not blameless, as far as what happened with my wife.” 

“Sorry.” Erestor crawled over on his stomach, cuddling against Fëanor. 

Fëanor uncovered his eyes. “I do not think we are meant to be alone--Elves, that is,” he said quickly. He brushed stray tendrils of Erestor’s hair from blocking his view. “You are a very good person; you are kind and patient, intelligent and fair. Your dislike of oatmeal can be overlooked. I am sure you will find your true love. And as for me, perhaps, there is someone who can tolerate the...whatever it is I am.”

“I think you will be more than tolerated,” said Erestor carefully. “I think you will be loved again.”

“You seem quite certain of that,” said Fëanor.

Erestor reached a hand out and placed it over Fëanor’s heart, feeling the slightly abnormal palpitations. His own heart was racing, thumping faster than it had in some time. “If I told you that I think I could fall in love with you, would you think that I was mad?”

“Did I think you were mad when I found you seemingly talking to yourself in the library?”

“True...”

Fëanor wrapped his arms around Erestor, embracing him tightly. “I think I might already be falling in love with you. I suppose we shall need to wait and see if we fall together.” Erestor nodded against Fëanor’s chest in agreement.


	14. Chapter 14

###  May 11, 121, Fourth Age

###  9:16 pm

  
  


“Awwwwwww,” chorused Glorfindel and the twins. Immediately, the trio was bombarded by a barrage of pillows from the pair they were teasing.

“You should talk,” shot Erestor back at his long time friend. “I suppose you forget how desperately lovesick you were at that time.”

Glorfindel snorted. “Confused, that is what I was. I did not wish to interfere!”

“I am glad you did,” admitted Elrond.

“Me, too,” added Elladan.

“Me, three,” said Elrohir.

Pointing a finger at Erestor, Glorfindel said, “It was all his doing, if you wish to thank someone.”

“Not I,” replied Erestor. “It was Fëanor’s idea, really.”

“Was it? Oh, yes, I suppose it was,” recalled the Noldo.

“Oh, do tell!” insisted Celebrían as she poured herself another glass of wine.


	15. Chapter 15

###  March 14, 3021, Third Age

###  8:12 am

  
  


“I have an idea.”

“Uh-oh.”

Fëanor playfully glared at his companion. They were still in bed, waiting for the breakfast tray to arrive. It had become customary, that although they still kept separate rooms, that Fëanor would walk Erestor to his room each night, crawl into bed with him, and always be there in the morning for breakfast, before which they would lie in bed together and talk or simply embrace one another.

Sometimes there was kissing. Those were the mornings they both liked best.

It was this that they were doing now, sharing lazy, comfortable kisses every now and then. Many a discussion had been had in the months since they began their strange sort of courtship, on how neither of them expected such a thing, and how odd it was to lie with another male, and yet how right it felt to them both.

Their pairing was met with skepticism at first, but after Elrond showed his support, the few remaining occupants of the valley joined suit. They were thrilled to see the Chief Counselor once again performing his duties, with a smile on his face and a spring in his step. As for Fëanor, residents warmed up to him, and oft when Erestor sat in open counsel at one side of the library with Elrond, Glorfindel, and others, Fëanor was on the opposite end entertaining with stories of an age long past.

Pressing his nose against Erestor’s throat, Fëanor kissed the smooth skin. “You may like this idea. I was thinking—“

“Uh-oh.”

“Will you stop that?” Fëanor could not help but laugh along with Erestor. “I think we might be able to kill two birds with one stone.”

“Killing birds is frowned upon here.”

Erestor was shortly thereafter smacked gently with a pillow.

Heaving a great sigh, Fëanor said, “I thought perhaps if you spoke with Glorfindel and I spoke with Elladan and Elrohir, we could do a bit of matchmaking and at the same time, persuade the twins to choose their Elven heritage.”

“Naturally I should speak with Glorfindel. I am happy it has not come to blows, but he still seems to harbor animosity towards you,” noticed Erestor.

Fëanor nodded. “Well, I did steal you away from him a bit. I know there are times when you might have spent the night playing chess with him or drinking in the Hall of Fire, and now, I occupy much of it.”

“I almost feel bad, except that if whatever you are proposing works, he, too, shall be occupied. Doubly occupied.” Erestor kissed along Fëanor’s shoulder. “What exactly did you have in mind?” asked Erestor as someone knocked on the door.

Fëanor swung his legs over the side of the bed and yanked a robe from a chair. “Let me get breakfast in, and then I shall tell you.”


	16. Chapter 16

###  May 11, 121, Fourth Age

###  9:28 pm

“The plot thickens,” said Elrohir with a grin, rubbing his hands together.

“I feel we must be getting to the good part,” teased Celebrían.

“Oh, yes. Well, the best part for us,” Elladan said.

A loud and incensed meow came from the hallway. “Excuse me--I need to let the cat out,” said Elrond.

“I can do it,” offered Fëanor. 

As he stood up, Erestor did as well. “I can help.”

“I will only be a moment,” said Fëanor, but he was already threading his fingers with Erestor’s and began to lead him to the door.

“We will be right back,” Erestor told the others as they left the room.

“It is so nice to see them together after they were separated for so long,” commented Elrond.

Outside of the house, the cat was quickly let out, but Fëanor did not escort Erestor back in immediately. Instead, he shut the door quietly, backed Erestor up against it so that no one interrupted them for a moment, and cupped his cheek. “I noticed when you retold the story, you cut it off short.” His lips curled into a smile.

“That was my favorite part of that morning, but I did not think we wanted to share that with others,” said Erestor. He had taken hold of one of Fëanor’s hands and began to kiss along his arm.

“No...but I could not help but think of what happened next.”

Erestor smiled. “You mean this?” He leaned in and kissed Fëanor chastley on the lips.

A bashful smile lit up Fëanor’s face. “I remember it a little different than that.”

“Different or better?” wondered Erestor.

“Mmm...everything is better when I am with you,” said Fëanor. They kissed again with more passion, and recalled the rest of that morning in Rivendell so long ago.


	17. Chapter 17

###  November 19, 3020, Third Age

###  11:29 am

A little time passed with both of them holding each other, unsure of what to do or say next, before Erestor spoke again. “We could…”

“Hmm?” Fëanor had nearly dozed off again when he heard Erestor’s voice. With how close they were, it seemed to have echoed through him. “What could we do?” He stroked Erestor’s hair while watching his expression of uncertainty be mustered into something bolder.

“We could try kissing. Just to see if--”

Fëanor’s body surged up, unwilling to wait, their lips pressed together with latent desire. it was not one kiss, but a multitude of kisses, and hands traveling with leisurely abandon. Only when Erestor grasped Fëanor’s shoulders and gasped for air did they pause. Fëanor had his hands upon Erestor’s hips, and looked up at him with concern. “I think...that was quite nice, but--”

Erestor coughed and nodded.

While Fëanor gave Erestor time to recover, he memorized Erestor’s features. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a pallid complexion that seemed washed out but promised the warmth of tones far darker than his own skin when rejuvenated, flecked with freckles that recalled the sprinkle of stars in the sky. Fëanor could only imagine the beauty he would behold when the blankets and heavy robes could be shed and Erestor was well enough again to present himself at council. The excitement of private promises to himself to ask for such a thing caused Fëanor’s stomach to flutter. 

When Erestor’s breathing slowed, Fëanor arranged them so that Erestor was comfortable again. He kissed Erestor’s brow. “I think I love you,” was whispered against Erestor’s skin.

“I know I love you,” said Erestor as he crawled a little closer. “The oatmeal you made was not terrible,” said Erestor once they were settled in.

“I will take that compliment,” said Fëanor. “Maybe you will want my oatmeal every morning.”

Erestor snorted.

“Sorry, I did not catch that,” apologized Fëanor, who thought Erestor had made a comment in response.

“Nothing,” chortled Erestor. “It was juvenile.”

Fëanor tapped Erestor on the nose. “I had seven boys. I am no stranger to juvenile things.”

Erestor chuckled. “No, it is really stupid.”

“Please. You have the floor.”

Erestor sat up. “I was going to ask if you used cream in your oatmeal, because it was very creamy, and my mind...went to a place…”

“Are you turning oatmeal into a euphemism for something?”

“I told you it was juvenile.”

“Erestor!”

“Sorry.”

“No...I like this side of you,” said Fëanor with a little growl. He almost lunged back into passionate kissing again, but stayed himself and only offered a gentle kiss. “So you...want to eat my oatmeal?” he drawled.

“I...I like the taste of your oatmeal,” answered Erestor as he ran one foot up and down Fëanor’s leg.

“You can have all the oatmeal you want,” said Fëanor, giving Erestor another kiss. “Just make sure you eat slowly.”

“Just little nibbles,” agreed Erestor as he peppered kisses over Fëanor’s chin.

“Yes…” Fëanor sighed happily when Erestor crawled up atop him and bent down to not only kiss him but to slide his tongue into a welcoming mouth. There were so many thoughts running through their minds, so many future considerations, but they restrained themselves for now, and after kissing for quite a while, fell asleep holding each other. As if the experience had not been enough for Fëanor, just before they slumbered together, Erestor pushed off the top blanket, mumbling about being too warm. 


	18. Chapter 18

###  May 11, 121, Fourth Age

###  9:42 pm

“Everything alright with the cat?” asked Celebrían when  Fëanor and Erestor came back inside.

“The what?” asked Fëanor. Erestor flicked a finger against Fëanor’s back, unseen to the others. Erestor’s blush was not unseen, nor was the mussed up hair they both sported. “Oh! The cat. Right. Cat is fine,” he said as they hurried back to their seats.

Elrond and  Celebrían exchanged a knowing look. The others seemed to have begun a card game, and offered to deal Erestor and Fëanor in, but both declined, choosing instead to cuddle with each other on the couch. Fëanor tried his best to smooth back Erestor’s hair when he noticed the way it was sticking out on one side. Celebrían pinched her nose so that she did not laugh.

“I want to hear more about the plan the two of you devised,” spoke up Maedhros after Elrond offered everyone another round of drinks. “What sort of clever scheming did you manage to pull off?”

Fëanor nodded. “Ah, that. It was…”

“Unconventional,” finished Erestor for him. “It was less precise planning and more direct confrontation,” Erestor recalled.


	19. Chapter 19

###  March 14, 3021 Third Age

###  11:41 am

  
  


“You look really well. Everything about you has improved since last autumn.”

Beaming, Erestor motioned across the table to the empty chair on the other side. He had asked Glorfindel to join him on his balcony for lunch, which had already arrived and was laid out. Somewhere else in the house, Fëanor had invited the twins to dine with him. “I have had a little help from an unexpected friend.”

Glorfindel sighed. “I am sorry I was unable to do anything.”

“What were you to do?”

“I do not know. Something.” Glorfindel’s was slumped a bit in his chair. “You kept getting paler and paler, you were hardly eating, you slept little, and you seemed so haunted. I watched you fading away, and I did nothing.”

Erestor passed a basket of bread to his friend. “There was not much for you to do. I had to figure things out on my own, for the most part.”

“But Fëanor helped you.”

“Yes, a little.”

“Are the two of you...” Glorfindel shifted uncomfortably. “He has not... forced himself upon you, has he?”

“No. Glorfindel, we have done little more than keep each other company and sometimes sleep in each other’s arms. Well, he does make me eat,” said Erestor, chuckling at the remembrance of the first few days, when he would be hounded until he finished his entire meal. “I suppose it is sudden, but in these last few months, especially over the past few weeks, I have begun to feel alive again.”

“Well,” Glorfindel said after careful consideration, “if he makes you happy, then that makes me happy. I am relieved to see you smile once again.”

“In some ways, that is what I wanted to talk to you about. What about your happiness, Glorfindel?”

Glorfindel set his roll down on his plate and brushed the crumbs from his hands. “I am happy,” he said plainly.

“Come, now. You used to be such a joyful soul. What happened to the merriment I used to hear in your voice, and the light in your eyes? The golden flower seems to have wilted as of late.”

“What would you have me do?”

“I would have you smile again,” said Erestor. “I would have you tell the truth to them both.”

“The truth? What truth?” questioned Glorfindel.

“As if you do not know. Your little secret, that you keep from the twins. You do more harm in keeping it to yourself.” Erestor leaned over the table, placing his hand on his friend’s shoulder, and Glorfindel looked up. “Tell them, Glorfindel. Tell them how much you have wanted to admit you love them, and how you have wanted to say such things to them since your first meeting, when you were returned to life and met them as they patrolled the borders.”

“I cannot,” argued Glorfindel, shaking his head all the while. “It may sway them!”

“Perhaps that is what they need,” Erestor reasoned.

“What if they have made their choice already, and have said nothing to anyone?” Glorfindel stood up and walked to the railing, placing his hands on it and looking down over the main courtyard. “If they rejected me, I do not know what I would do.”

“So you would rather live your life not knowing, perhaps losing them forever, than taking a chance and perhaps finding out that they loved you in return?”

Glorfindel said nothing as he stared across the land.

On another balcony, overlooking a different courtyard, a debate of a different sort was taking place.

“You have given me reasons both for and against choosing the race of Men,” said Fëanor thoughtfully as he pulled off small bits of his sandwich to eat, popping them into his mouth. “You also have reasons for choosing the race of Elves. Now, with all the supporting evidence, it seems clear by now you might have chosen. Unless, of course, you have reasons why you would not want to call yourselves Elves.”

“There is one reason,” Elrohir finally admitted.

“Which is?”

There was hesitation from both of them. Finally, Elladan set down the crust of his sandwich and said, “Erestor. Neither of us wants to end up like him.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was in love, and now look at him!” Elrohir shook his head. “What if one of us fell in love with someone, and they did not return that love? What if we fell in love with one who was mortal, after choosing Elvenkind?” Placing a hand to his stomach, Elrohir looked a bit nauseous.

“But what if there is someone who loves you who is of Elvenkind, and you made the decision to be mortal? What do you think might happen to him?” Fëanor bit his lip the moment the words left his mouth, but only Elladan caught the slip.

“Whoever  **_he_ ** is, he has not come forth. At least, not to my knowledge,” said Elladan

Elrohir narrowed his eyes. “It sounds as if you speak of a certainty.”

“What if I do?” Fëanor turned his head upon hearing a knock at the door. “Excuse me a moment,” he apologized and went back into his rooms, to reach the entrance. Upon opening the door, he saw Erestor. “Did it go badly?” he asked, seeing as not much time had passed, and certainly not enough to finish lunch.

Erestor shook his head, and stood aside to reveal Glorfindel behind him. “Ahm... I was wondering... are Elladan and Elrohir here, by chance?” asked the blond bashfully.

“Come in.” Fëanor stepped aside, closing the door only after both had entered. “Right this way.”

The trio cut through the rooms to the balcony, where both of the twins were standing up and looked a bit confused. Glorfindel stopped at the doorway, uneasily fidgeting with the edge of his shirt with one hand. “I……..”

“I think Glorfindel wants a moment in private with the young lords,” said Erestor, practically yanking Fëanor out of the room, closing the door behind them.

“What happened?” questioned Fëanor.

“I work fast,” Erestor said with a shrug. “Once I had him convinced to come see them, he was no longer hungry and wanted to come right away. I do hope the twins... well, it is out of our hands now.”

Fëanor frowned. “You said he came over without eating?”

“Yes... why?”

“It means there is still lunch in your rooms – and I, for one, intend to have lunch.”

For the rest of the day, no one saw Glorfindel or the twins anywhere. When Erestor and Fëanor, while standing in the kitchen, overheard a maid asking one of the cooks for a tray of food to be taken to Fëanor’s suite despite the fact Fëanor was sitting right next to Erestor having dinner at the time, the counselor smiled and whispered to his companion, “You may have to stay the night with me.”

“Oh?”

“Your rooms, I believe, have a theoretical ‘do not disturb’ sign on them.”

“Come again?”

“They are currently being occupied by a balrog slayer and a pair of peredhel. Or should I assume, twin Elven brothers?” mused Erestor.

Fëanor grinned. “They can have my room as long as they need it. There is nothing I would enjoy more than to spend my life with you.”

Erestor tilted his head. “Oh?”

“Hmm?”

“What you just said.”

“That I would enjoy spending the night with you?”

“Right. I must have misheard.”

Fëanor studied Erestor. “What did you think I said?”

“Here are your dinner trays,” said the head cook, bringing one for each of them. “Thank you so much for retrieving supper--so many people are staying in their rooms tonight on account of the cold,” he said.

“Cold?” questioned Erestor as he took his tray.

The cook nodded. “Snow expected tonight. Best to make sure you have extra firewood before you retire.”

“You did not notice the chill sweeping through the halls?” asked Fëanor as he and Erestor walked back to Erestor’s rooms. 

Erestor shook his head. “Though, I am glad you will be staying the night. In case I get cold.”

“So am I. For more than just the promise of warmth,” Fëanor said, stealing a quick and careful kiss so as not to jostle their trays. “Oh! Do you know what we forgot while we were down there? Dessert,” he answered for himself.

“I think we can come up with something sweeter than dessert to have after dinner,” teased Erestor.


	20. Chapter 20

###  March 15, 3021, Third Age

###  8:17 am

  
  


It was Glorfindel who appeared first to breakfast after Elrond, Fëanor, and Erestor had arrived. He was dressed in a dark purple bath robe of all things, and his feet were bare. He had bathed, and his hair had been brushed out but not braided, so it curled softly and fell over his shoulders instead of being tamed harshly back. “Good morning,” he said, more cheerfully than he had in some time, as he sat down.

Erestor grinned, while Fëanor nodded with a smile and returned the greeting. Elrond stared openly, though his gaze moved to Elladan as his eldest joined them.

“Morning, all. Morning, Ada.” Elladan was wearing a robe as well, this one green and similar in style to Glorfindel’s. He poured himself a glass of juice, drank it all, and filled it up again. He, too, had obviously cleaned up, warrior braids absent. Elrond scratched his head and looked to the door, to see Elrohir entering, brown robe, in the same state as his brother and Glorfindel.

“Wash day? No clothes?” wondered Elrond, for it had been since before his sons’ majority that they would dress as such to come to any meal, and never had he seen Glorfindel so... un-Glorfindel-like.

“No, actually, just, well...” Elrohir trailed off, and pulled an extra chair over, positioning it to the side of Glorfindel that Elladan was not sitting.

Flabbergasted, Elrond watched Elrohir sit down. Never, ever, had the pair sat anywhere but beside one another. A sudden dawning came over him as he watched Elladan rise up slightly in order to reach around Glorfindel to retrieve a bottle of maple syrup, and kiss the slayer’s cheek as he resumed his position. Elrohir, catching the movement, leaned around Glorfindel to stick his tongue out at his brother, then kissed Glorfindel’s other cheek. “Oh, I see,” said Elrond. Then Elrond blinked, and slowly, a smile spread across his face. It was contagious, and soon they were all grinning from ear to ear. “So... I assume this means...”

“Yes, Ada,” confirmed Elrohir. “We have made our choice.”

“And... we chose Glorfindel!” said Elladan, only half jokingly as he leaned against the blond ellon.


	21. Chapter 21

###  May 11, 121, Fourth Age

###  10:08 pm

  
  


“It had to be difficult for you when you parted,” said Maglor.

“Difficult is an understatement,” Fëanor told his son. “I had run out of time, and I had few other options.” He tightened his grip on Erestor’s hand. “But now, I am not letting him out of my sight,” he promised, and Erestor smiled. “Part of me wishes I had stolen him away on the ship and brought him with me.”

“Odds are we never would have found Maglor had you done so,” Glorfindel reminded him. “It was only due to the fact Erestor was able to read a few documents that I did not even know the language of that we learned his whereabouts.”

“It was not that I was proficient in Haradi,” Erestor said. “It was our luck that Maglor signed the scrolls with his own name that we were able to trace him.”

“Still, to have split apart for so long...” Celebrían shook her head. “Elladan and Elrohir in one place, my father in another, the two of you off playing detective, and poor Fëanor stuck here to wait. It had to be dreadful.”

“The parting was the worst of it,” Fëanor recalled.


	22. Chapter 22

###  September 29, 3021, Third Age

###  2:58 pm

  
  


Fëanor stood on the plank that led up to the ship which would bear him back to Valinor. Already boarded were Elrond and Galadriel, as well as many other Elves happy to be sailing to the blessed realm. On the ship, too, were two hobbits of the Shire, who had just said their goodbyes to a trio of hobbits who were not going with them.

Celeborn sat upon his horse, looking at the ship with both longing and uncertainty, while his grandsons kept not only their horses corralled, but the horses formerly belonging to their father and grandmother as well.

Glorfindel was standing a bit closer to the ship, the reigns of Asfaloth and of a grey mare that Fëanor and Erestor had shared during the trip to the Havens in his hand.

“Fëanor, it is time.”

“Just another minute, Lord Oromë,” answered Fëanor, his voice muffled in the fabric of Erestor’s travel cloak.

“You said that ten minutes ago,” the Vala’s voice boomed.

Fëanor took only the slightest step back, his eyes red from ‘dust kicked up during the journey’, as he put it, though it was hard to make others believe this lie whilst he wiped his tears. Erestor was slightly more composed, having done his mourning of their parting before they left Imladris. “You will join me as soon as you can.”

“Of course I will,” promised Erestor. “As soon as we find your son.”

It had been Glorfindel’s idea to search for Maglor when it became apparent that Fëanor would not have the necessary time he needed to complete that task. The twins had offered their aid, until realizing that they would need to oversee Rivendell. At first, Fëanor argued against the idea that Erestor stay behind a little while longer, but it was the most logical solution.

“No one should be traveling on their own, not in the places he may need to go,” Erestor had said. “Glorfindel and I fought in many battles together, and we both know the lay of the land well. Do not worry; we will find Maglor and return with him to Valinor sooner than you can imagine.”

Erestor repeated these words now, as they stood on the plank, one staying, one going. They embraced once again, and then kissed one another in a chaste, romantic way, owing to the fact that many eyes were upon them, and also that they had shared a more passionate parting behind the stables when they had first arrived in Mithlond.

“Go,” whispered Erestor, stepping back, still holding one of Fëanor’s hands. “Go, the ship is leaving.”

Fëanor struggled to keep hold of Erestor’s hand as they both backed up toward their destinations, but finally their fingers slipped away. Turning around, Fëanor looked up at the white sails. When he turned back, he saw Erestor slowly backing away, one small step at a time. “Go. Now. They are waiting.” Erestor shooed him away, eyes beginning to glisten. 

Opening his mouth to speak, Fëanor found he had lost his voice. He swallowed and nodded, and climbed up the ramp to the deck of the ship. Moments later, ropes were cast up to the waiting Maiar, and the ship lurched away from the docks. A comforting touch was felt from Oromë’s hand upon his shoulder. “You must know something,” he said, his voice a low rumble. Fëanor looked up to regard the Vala. “It will be many years before you see him again. A century or more shall pass.”

This news was a blow Fëanor had not expected. “But he will come, right? He will sail to Valinor.”

“From what I saw in the weavings, yes, he will. You will learn patience from his absence.”

“I can be patient but this is cruel!” Fëanor lowered his voice when Oromë gave him an amused look. “Perhaps... perhaps I will learn something from this,” he muttered.

Oromë did not answer. Instead, he looked back to the horizon.

A century. A hundred years. A hundred years apart, without each other. A hundred years of lonely nights, of cold beds, no small talk, no snuggling, no casual kisses, no breakfast in bed...

“Erestor!” Fëanor ran to the stern of the ship, and waved his arm in case Erestor had not heard him. “Erestor!”

“What?” he heard faintly from the shore.

“Erestor! I...” Fëanor paused, turning around to see the crowd on the deck, watching him.

“What?” The voice was fainter still.

Crowd be damned, Fëanor leaned as far forward as he could and yelled as loud as he could, “I love you!”

He was too far now to hear the response, and the ship became lost in a fog, but he hoped at least that Erestor had heard him.


	23. Chapter 23

###  May 11, 121, Fourth Age

###  10:56 pm

  
  


“As soon as I heard you say that, I lost it,” admitted Erestor. “Poor Glorfindel--I got snot in his hair while he held me, standing on the shore. I was a mess. It was a good thing he reminded me that the sooner we found Maglor, the sooner we could leave.”

“If I had known how long it was going to be, I would have thrown myself at Oromë’s feet and begged him to let me stay a little longer,” Fëanor said.

Erestor snuggled closer to Fëanor, resting his head upon the Noldo’s shoulder. “I am here now, with no intention of going anywhere.”

“Actually,” remarked Maedhros, stretching his arms with a yawn, “I think some of us ought to be going home, for the evening at least.”

Celebrían, who was nearly asleep, rubbed her eyes and stood up. “I suppose it is time to turn in. We would love to have you over tomorrow for dinner, though, right, Elrond?”

“Yes, of course. All of you,” he added, smiling warmly at Maglor and Maedhos.

Everyone went to the door, saying their farewells. Glorfindel stood in the doorway, an identical peredhel at either side, while Elrond and Celebrían spoke with Maglor for a few moments before he and Maedhros traveled down one path to Maedhros’ house.

As Fëanor and Erestor made to go down the path in the other direction, Glorfindel let out a sharp whistle. “Fëanor.”

“What?”

“Take good care of him.”

“Or else,” added Elladan

The old Fëanor, perhaps, might have glared at such comments, or even raised a fuss. The new Fëanor simply smirked and shook his head, giving them a wave before leaving hand in hand with his reunited lover.

It took almost half an hour of walking to make it back to Fëanor’s house from Elrond’s. Candles aplenty were lit when the pair entered, as was the fireplace. Erestor had only been inside once before, early that morning when he, Glorfindel, Elladan, Elrohir, and Maglor had arrived in Valimar. It meant that he was still unsure of the layout, and ended up in the kitchen instead of the master bedroom, where he encountered a fluffy orange cat enjoying some scraps. “Oh, you have two of them,” remarked Erestor, who had only seen a single black cat earlier that day.

“Three, actually,” said Fëanor as he joined Erestor in the kitchen. “This one is named Silmaril.”

Erestor furrowed his brow. “I thought the black one was named Silmaril.”

“I have a white one named Silmaril, too.”

“Alright... I think I might be missing the punchline.”

Continuing to grin, Fëanor explained, “When I returned on the ship with Oromë, before my other sons were released, I encountered Nessa. She had with her a basket, and in it three tiny kittens. She held each of them up, and introduced each of them to me as Silmaril.”

“Then she let them loose,” he said as he set out a saucer of milk. “She said to me, ‘Fullfill your oath, Lord Fëanor. Capture and reclaim the Silmarils, as you once promised you would.’ So, I did.”

Laughing, Erestor shook his head. “What a simple, clever solution.”

“Amrod thought it was bloody idiotic, but the rest of my children would agree with you. Here, this way, this way,” coaxed Fëanor, pulling Erestor out of the kitchen and into the correct room. The Noldo went to the closet and pulled out an ivory colored garment. “I think it should fit. I had it made for you when Elrond foresaw your arrival.”

While Erestor disappeared into the bathroom, Fëanor readied the bed. First, he turned the sheets down, then, not wanting to presume too much, tucked them back in. Realizing this was ridiculous considering their behavior that evening, he pulled them out again, knocking the pillows to the floor just as Erestor reentered.

“Impatient, are we?”

Fëanor sighed. “No, just clumsy.” He returned the pillows to their proper places, making a noise of dissatisfaction when he noted the fold of the sheets was at an angle.

“Do not fret about it,” said Erestor, his hands shoved into the pockets of his new robe. “I am sure they will be all tangled about by the end of this night.”

“Promise?”

Fëanor turned his head to the side to regard Erestor, who, despite looking tired from the long journey and the time of day, looked regal and elegant in the long silken robes. The contrast between fabric and skin was just what Fëanor had hoped for. Instead of answering with words, Erestor closed the gap between them and slid into Fëanor’s arms, stretching his neck so that he could kiss Fëanor fully and deeply.

They were soon on the bed, Fëanor’s clothing strewn on the floor and Erestor wearing only the silk robe. With one leg bent up at the knee, the fabric had parted to reveal a delightful amount of bare flesh to Fëanor. “We need not do this tonight, if you want to wait,” he offered between kisses.

“A hundred years, and you think either of us have the patience to wait another day?”

“Hundred and twenty-one years,” Fëanor corrected, reaching for the belt of the robe. “Hundred and twenty-one years, seven months, twelve days—“ The rest of his accounting of time was swallowed back as Erestor silenced him with another kiss.

Indeed the blankets were shoved askew off the bed. Erestor was on his back, centered on the soft mattress with his thick black hair fanned out over the pillows, his robe open to reveal soft skin, tanned darker than Fëanor remembered it being from the many years he and Glorfindel had spent traveling Middle-earth in search of Maglor. Balanced above him was Fëanor, fingers brushing over dusky nipples, tracing patterns over Erestor’s chest and stomach. Unlike the first time he had seen the scribe unclothed, Erestor now looked healthy. His muscles did not bulge, but they were defined across his lean form. In fact, all his adventuring made Erestor quite athletic in appearance, and Fëanor hummed delightedly as his hand ran over Erestor’s abdomen, which seemed to have been perfectly chiseled like the statues his ex-wife was famous for. “I like this,” murmured Fëanor, looking over Erestor lustfully. “Remind me to keep you out in the sun often.”

To this Erestor laughed, and shrugged himself the rest of the way out of the robe. “My intention is to find a nice, quiet library somewhere... do you know how long it has been since I have surrounded myself with scrolls and books and such?”

“One-hundred twenty-one years, seven months, and twelve days?” Fëanor guessed, only half-joking.

“About that,” agreed Erestor. “Are you going to hover above me all night, or join me? Or, are you a little apprehensive about all of this?”

“Sorry, I suppose I am.” Fëanor snuggled up next to Erestor, on his side so that his arm was draped over the darker haired ellon as he looked down at him. Dark eyes looked back. “There is of course something I would like for us to do, but I would hate terribly for us to regret it come the morning.”

“I think both of us have had more than enough time to reconsider our situation. I, for one, do not intend to wander through Valinor by my lonesome,” said Erestor. “What are you worried about? Why do you think we will regret this?”

“Well... you did take a fancy to a female at one time. There are thousands of beautiful, available—“

“You were married at one time! I worry that you will decide that being with me is not as good as being with her was.”

These thoughts were considered for a minute or two, until Erestor said, “No matter what happens after tonight, I know I would regret it if we simply walked away now. Besides, I have fallen in love with you. I do not think I could walk away now.”

Fëanor took hold of Erestor’s hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it. “How can you love someone who murdered so many kin, and told so many lies?”

“Because I know, at least, I feel, that you have changed now. I think you did a lot of what you did because of Morgoth; I think he probably had you in his thrall without you knowing. Knowing what we do now about him, it is not all that unlikely that you were in some ways under his power.”

Hanging his head shamefully, Fëanor felt Erestor’s other hand brush over his cheek and press against his chest. “I have no desire to seek out another elleth. I would much prefer to spend all of my days and nights with you.”

“Morgoth is gone, and my wife is not coming back.” Fëanor’s hand slipped back down to touch Erestor. “I want you... I want all of you.”

Erestor lifted himself up slightly, bringing himself nose to nose with Fëanor and causing the wandering hand to slip between his legs. “Then stop stalling. Tell me what you want to do with me.”

“I want...” Fëanor gently squeezed what his hand was holding, and Erestor moaned. “I want to take you... make you mine. Taste you, claim you... as my own.” The hand slid down underneath, knuckles gliding along the discarded silk robe beneath Erestor, two fingers pressing, pulsing against the hidden entrance. “I want to be here... inside you. I want us together.”

“Then do it,” insisted Erestor, so close their lips brushed as he spoke.

Rolling away onto his other side, Fëanor retrieved oil from the nightstand. He rolled back to find Erestor extricating the slippery robe from underneath himself, tossing it down at the foot of the bed. The pair paused, looking at one another, almost searching for something. Fëanor leaned down, which forced Erestor to settle his head back onto the pillows, and they kissed as the stopper was removed. Oil was drizzled into Fëanor’s palm, which he used to massage Erestor’s genitals until he was fully erect before delving down further.

Erestor trembled as he felt the lubricated fingers attempting to breach him, and closed his eyes. He lifted his hips slightly and felt a pillow hastily being shoved into the space behind his back before Fëanor pressed one finger forward. The virgin muscle clenched and released, drawing in the intrusion ever deeper.

Their kissing did not stop as Fëanor positioned himself over Erestor, still preparing him until he could manage two fingers easily. The sounds that Erestor was making were slowly driving Fëanor to the edge, and he was thankful for the beckoning look he was given when his fingers were removed. And yet, he hesitated as he aligned the head of his erection with the slick, puckered opening.

“What?” Erestor panted, feeling Fëanor’s trepidation.

“Not like this,” mumbled Fëanor, lowering himself down next to Erestor. He spooned himself up against his lover’s back, his erection throbbing as it pressed against the warm cleft. “This alright?”

“Nice,” replied Erestor lazily, his left arm that was somewhat trapped under them stretching up to take hold of Fëanor’s hand. The other was used to reach back and grab his lover’s thigh while Fëanor dipped his body down and lifted Erestor’s right leg over his own.

Fëanor was slow to penetrate his lover, using his hand upon Erestor’s thigh to guide him down. Erestor released blissful moans, letting out a sigh as he felt himself deeply seated on Fëanor’s hard length. “Move or something,” he suggested after a few seconds.

“So impatient.” Fëanor rolled his hips, his thrusts shallow, but enough for them both to work up into a frenzy, gasping and moaning, kissing and licking, touching and grabbing, clawing and biting, until somehow they managed to have all of the blankets on the floor, and most of the pillows, too.

Fëanor frantically grabbed for Erestor’s erection as he felt himself readying to release, and found it limp. “You come already?”

“What did you expect, with you back there, pounding away at me?”

“Pounding? You want pounding, I can give you pounding!” And so Erestor found himself on his knees, his ass in the air as he braced himself with his forearms and elbows as Fëanor thrust into him again. The angle was much different than it had been, and something inside of Erestor shocked him to his core. He clawed at the sheets and arched back in an attempt to seek closer contact. As Fëanor finally found release, the sensation of it along with the thought of just what they were doing sent Erestor over the edge again.

Fëanor cleaned up the mess that had been made while Erestor crawled to the foot of the bed to retrieve a blanket. They curled up together, snuggled together, Erestor feeling warmer than he had in a long time, and Fëanor feeling relaxed, cooled, calmed, and at peace.

“Thank you,” said Fëanor just as they were about to doze off.

Erestor chuckled. “I, uh...never thought I would be thanked for sex. I am not even sure I was that good.”

“Oh, you were wonderful,” purred Fëanor. “Superb. But what I was thanking you for bringing my son back. I can only imagine what you and Glofindel went through, to be traveling for so long, and into so many places. It means so much to me to have all of my sons here, and to have you here, and...just…” Fëanor’s shoulders began to shake. “I was starting to worry that neither of you would come,” he sobbed.

“Shh...everything is alright.” Erestor sat up and pulled Fëanor up with him so that he did not start coughing. “Honey, I am here now, and nothing is going to take me away.” He rocked Fëanor until they were simply holding one another, breathing slowly. “If it makes you feel any better, I had a very similar reaction when we found Maglor. Do you want me to tell you about it?” he asked. Fëanor nodded his head against Erestor’s shoulder, still clinging to him. “Alright, well, hopefully, you will get a little laugh out of some of it, and that will help you sleep.” And indeed, it did.


	24. Chapter 24

###  November 5, 120, Fourth Age

###  7:12 pm

“I hope this is the place,” said Glorfindel as he and Erestor dismounted and left their horses to roam along the shore. There was a small rickety boat leaning against a tree. Not a quarter mile from the edge of the water was a small island.

Erestor rolled up one of many maps he had drawn during their travels and tucked it away in his pack. “It has to be the place. It aligns with everything we were told, in every village we visited.” The lands they were in were hot and humid, and the sun beat down. Both of them had their hair bound up to lessen the sweat on their necks, and wore loose, light clothing unlike the style of dress in Rivendell. “Come on! Help me with this!” Erestor headed for the boat, which looked barely able to fit both of them, and even if it did, was questionable as to its ability to stay afloat. 

“You take the boat. You have the all the documents. I can swim.” As soon as they had the boat in the water, a dozen or so piranhas swam up along the side and bit at it angrily. “Changed my mind. Both of us in the boat,” said Glorfindel. 

The boat was sturdier than it looked, though further inspection by Glorfindel deemed it to be of Elven make. There was only a single oar, which Glorfindel used to paddle them to the island.

It was not a very large piece of land, but it had adequate space for a small bit of farming, some fruit trees, and a small tower built of stone. There was no door, just an entryway, which Glorfindel and Erestor entered. Stairs wound around and around; it seemed more of a lighthouse than a tower once they were inside. 

“Is it just stairs?” wondered Glorfindel at the top of the fifth flight.

“If it is, I will literally scream. Literally scream, after all of this.” Through the journey, they had faced giant hornets that attacked them at night, causing them to abandon their campsite for a long enough duration that a bear mauled most of their gear before they returned. (Erestor attempted shoo the bear; Glorfindel took a more direct approach when it refused to leave and punched it in the nose--then was made by Erestor to go apologize later after everyone, Elves and bear, had calmed down. To be fair, this was after both of the Elves had suffered about a half dozen hornet stings each.)

Then, they had been arrested for trespassing, for they entered a region that unbeknownst to them was allegedly illegal to travel through. After spending more than a decade in jail and unsure of how to proceed, they were freed suddenly with very little explanation, except that apparently there had been miscommunication and they had been suspected of being Elves of Mirkwood. With several future questions to ask King Thranduil if they ever saw him, and a significant delay, they began again after returning to Rivendell for supplies, amid jokes about how it was fortunate the two of them had not accompanied the fellowship, or the ring likely would still not have been destroyed. 

They had better luck the second time, though their travels took them to the far north, then down again, into the Shire, and across Rohan, for while the stories of Maglor told of him wandering the shore, there were other accounts placing him further inland, and no stone was left unturned. 

The latest clues were more substantial--while perusing documents at an archive in Far Harad, Erestor came across several letters and documents which included a signature of ‘Maka’, which was worth investigation, considering maka was not a word in Haradi, and documents signed by Maka went back almost four hundred years. They eventually found themselves in a village where several people seemed very certain that the pointy-eared hermit who lived in the tower there and played sad sounding songs on a harp during twilight was probably the person they were looking for.

The uppermost portion of the tower opened into a single round room. Sitting cross legged on the floor was an Elf with dark hair, his eyes closed in meditation. There was a harp nearby, and a few personal items, but in general the furnishings were sparse. 

Erestor cleared his throat. “Excuse me--are you--”

“That is him,” Glorfindel answered.

“Hmm?” The Elf on the floor opened his eyes. “Oh. You.”

“Hmmph. Same,” Glorfindel replied with an eyeroll.

“You told me you would not do this,” hissed Erestor at Glorfindel.

“Sorry. Old habits--”

“Just pretend for a few minutes that you do not have to be rude to kinslayers,” whispered Erestor back. “Please? You can return to your prejudices in a moment.” Erestor turned back to the Elf on the floor. “You are Maglor?”

The Elf on the floor nodded.

Slowly, Erestor approached. Maglor remained still as Erestor knelt down in front of him. He set his hands on Maglor’s shoulders, as if testing to be sure he was actually there, and then grinned. “Glorfindel! We found him!” he shouted excitedly as he looked over his shoulder.

“Uh-huh.” Glorfindel was already drinking from the flask he retrieved.

Erestor looked back, hands still on Maglor’s shoulders. “We found you. We found you,” he repeated as the meaning of his words sunk in. The end of a journey--the beginning of a new one. A reunion on the horizon. Emotions surged, and Erestor pulled Maglor into a hug. “I am going to take you home,” he promised before he began to openly weep.

“Uh...Glorfindel? Who is your friend?” asked Maglor as he patted Erestor’s back.

“Ah, your future stepfather, I think,” Glorfindel answered.

“Oh! Uh...I see,” said Maglor. “I did not realize my mother planned to marry...uh, not my father.”

“Oh, not your mother. Your mother remarried already,” said Glorfindel.

Maglor blinked. “Sorry, what?”

“Your mother. She married someone else, not your father. Your father? He is in love with the man you are holding upright. That is Erestor, and unless you want to make your father very very sad, I suggest you pack your things and follow whatever instructions Erestor has for you.”

Maglor twitched his head and looked at Erestor, who was still clinging to him and crying, and then to Glorfindel again. “Did this Elf come from Valinor?”

“No--long story short, your father had a year to try to find you and take care of some other business, and Erestor is finishing that for him so that they can be reunited and live happily ever after.”

“I see.” Maglor glanced at Erestor again. “Pardon my saying this, and perhaps I should not with him right here,” he admitted, though it seemed that Erestor was working through a deep emotional purge, so Maglor continued, “but...he seems a bit...young?”

“He is not  _ that  _ young.”

“But not in the Years of the Trees,” said Maglor.

Glorfindel took another swig and shook his head.

“So, First Age?”

“Eh…”

“Second Age.”

Glorfindel shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“If you tell me Third Age, I am going to need some of whatever you are drinking,” insisted Maglor.

Glorfindel took another nip, and then handed over the flask.


	25. Chapter 25

###  May 12, 121, Fourth Age

###  1:04 am

“So my son thinks I am a cradle robber,” mused Fëanor.

“Glorfindel straightened that out. They shared the rest of the miruvor, and had a discussion about, after a hundred years, what does it matter?”

“A hundred years matters a lot,” said Fëanor softly as he brushed his fingers over Erestor’s cheek. “A hundred years is a very long time.”

“I think you know what I mean.” Erestor took hold of Fëanor’s hand and kissed his fingers. 

“I am sorry he said anything about it.”

“I do not think he meant anything malicious,” said Erestor. “Besides, I told him if he sassed me, I felt I was well within my rights as your future...mmm, spouse?...to take him over my knee. He had a good laugh over that.”

“I bet he did. He must have a good half-meter on you,” guessed Fëanor. He was a little fidgety now, and a moment later kissed Erestor’s brow and excused himself a moment. Erestor stretched out and snuggled a pillow, smiling as he detected Fëanor’s scent. He heard some noise in another room, a drawer opening and closing, and Fëanor returned. “We were...having our moment, and…seemed disruptive to...well, I, I made these.” Fëanor extended his arm, and in his palm were a set of rings, two silver and two gold. “I did not want to assume exactly how you might want to...but, you did say spouse, so--”

“Is this one mine?” Erestor selected the gold band that looked to be his size and held it up. “Gold rings. The silver ones are nice, but I feel as if we had a very extended betrothal even if it was not formal. And I spent so many nights, looking up at the stars, wondering if we were looking at the same sky, yearning for a time when you and I would fall asleep together, seeing the same stars, and wake up to the same rising sun, and not wonder about being married, but knowing we are wed.”

“I was hoping you might say that. And, well, we did... you know…”

“Yes,” grinned Erestor as Fëanor took the gold ring and set the others aside, then slid the band over Erestor’s finger. “I was there,” Erestor said with a wink. He took the other gold ring and slid it onto the finger Fëanor was already offering to him. “These are lovely. And now, I fear, I am no longer sleepy.”

Fëanor crawled back into the bed. “The beautiful thing about every moment forward is that you and I will be together, and we can sleep or not sleep whenever we want, and if you want to not sleep, I fully support that decision.”

“What sort of not sleep activities might you suggest?” teased Erestor as he admired the brilliantly shining band encircling his finger.

“Do you have anything in mind?” asked Fëanor as he propped his head up with his hand, elbow on the pillow, lazily touching Erestor’s shoulder.

Erestor stretched out, arms above his head, lengthening his body. When he relaxed, it was on his back, one knee bent, legs spread apart, and looking up at Fëanor with a great desire in his eyes. “We could...sleep in. And… you could make me oatmeal with honey,” he suggested as Fëanor was already moving to crawl up over him.

“You can have all the oatmeal you want,” Fëanor promised a moment before leaning down to kiss Erestor’s throat.

“Extra honey?” It came out as a gasp, for Fëanor had aligned their bodies and was rubbing against Erestor, who arched his hips up and groaned.

“You can have whatever you want.” Fëanor hastily retrieved oil and kissed a path down Erestor’s chest while he slicked his fingers. Slowly he pressed a single digit forward and to stretch Erestor, and found him very willing and perhaps not quite so in need of preparation as he expected. “Tell me what you want and it is yours.”

“I seriously want you to make oatmeal for me tomorrow morning,” answered Erestor in a deep, sexy voice. Fëanor paused and looked uncertain of what to say. Erestor burst out laughing. “You should see your face!”

For a moment, Fëanor attempted to glare at Erestor, but the sputtered chortling from Erestor caused Fëanor to return the chuckles. “You are...a certain kind of wonderful,” whispered Fëanor as he lowered his head so that their noses were touching. “You make my heart sing melodies of pure love.”

Erestor closed his eyes and rubbed his hand in small circles upon Fëanor’s hip. He grinned and turned his head slightly so that he could stretch up and kiss Fëanor. “I love you...and never want to have to wait a hundred years to say that back to you again. If I had known how good it would feel to join with you, I never would have let you go before we made love.”

Slowly, Fëanor sucked in his breath, hard from Erestor’s words and the way his body writhed suggestively beneath him. “It would have been that much harder for us to part. Because I...I really want--”

“I want you, too. I never believed what Glorfindel told me,” Erestor said with a rueful shake of his head. “Sure, sex sounded like it had to be fun, the way he would find ways for us to make stops in Imladris for him to see Elladan and Elrohir, or for them to meet up with us during our journeys, and of course there were his years in Gondolin and things that happened there, and--”

“Wait...Glorfindel shared his sexual exploitations with you? And his romance with Elladan and Elrohir?” Fëanor blinked. “I may be bold, but I do not think I would be able to talk about those sorts of things with...anyone I was not married to or at least in a deep relationship with.”

Erestor bit his lip and blushed slightly. “I, uhm… I asked him to tell me. I was… well, pining for you, I guess. And--it started innocently enough, I think,” recalled Erestor. “I just…” His foot slid up and down Fëanor’s leg. “I missed you. I missed sleeping beside you. I missed kissing you. Listening to him tell me stories kept my mind off of how much I was pining, and...gave me some ideas for the future.”

Fëanor lifted a brow. “What sort of ideas?”

“I could...show you,” offered Erestor.

Looking down at the questioning eyes, the slightly uncertain and innocent expression, Fëanor nodded slowly. “Sure,” he whispered.

A split second later, he found himself on his back with Erestor looking down at him. His wrists were held down over his head. Erestor grinned.

“Huh. You, uh...you got stronger,” realized Fëanor. He rotated his wrists to test the hold. “Glorfindel teach you that, too?”

“Uh huh. Sure.” Erestor chuckled. “Actually, uh...just wanted to see if I could do that.”

“I see.” 

Erestor kept Fëanor’s arms pinned down while he readjusted to better straddle his spouse. “Are you upset?”

Fëanor lifted his hips to press his erection against whatever he could blindly reach. “Does that feel like I am upset to you?”

There was another playful ripple of laughter from Erestor. “This has nothing to do with what Glorfindel told me about. I was just curious.” Erestor made another adjustment. His mouth was open slightly; his tongue was anchored in place by his teeth. He seemed to be gauging something from the way he glanced over his shoulder. “Now this...uhm...ahhh...yesss…” Erestor had to wiggle a bit and eventually gave up holding one of Fëanor’s wrists for a moment to align himself so that he could take part of Fëanor’s erection into his tight yet sufficiently slicked passage. 

“Ohh...oohh...I like this...very much,” encouraged Fëanor. He tried to keep still and allow Erestor to move at a pace comfortable to him. It was truly a test in patience. “I...never really...ughh...if you...need me to do anything...just….unnnhh...unnhhhh...just tell me,” he panted as Erestor gradually inched down and took Fëanor deeper within. Fëanor gasped behind clenched teeth, wanting to touch more, but just as he was about to reach out with his free hand, his wrist was captured again and he growled and pretended to try to escape (could he even?) by once more twisting his wrists. Without thinking, he bucked up.

Erestor’s mouth opened wide, but no sound emerged. Instead, he shook a little and tightened his hold on Fëanor’s wrists.

“Sorry! Sorry, I--”

“Please! Please...try...do it...again…” Erestor clenched his muscles and gasped softly. He did it again and moaned.

Fëanor licked his lips, his mouth feeling dry. He wanted to get his hands to Erestor’s hips, but all he managed was to contort his left hand around so that his fingers were entwined with Erestor’s. Just before Fëanor thrust up again, Erestor mirrored Fëanor’s right hand to the left. Erestor’s nails dug into the back of Fëanor’s hand as their bodies felt the impact of Fëanor’s sudden move, and there was another moan that followed in the wake. Rising up into more of a kneeling position, ever so slowly, Erestor was making some sort of keening noises in the back of his throat as he settled into an almost seated position, with Fëanor fully sheathed. “Please,” begged Erestor.

“Let me touch you,” pleaded Fëanor.

Erestor moved his hands away to free Fëanor, and rested his palms on his husband’s chest. As soon as Fëanor could, he had his hands on Erestor’s hips. Instead of jerking his body upwards, Fëanor tested to see if he could lift Erestor slightly and pull him back down. The results were quite successful; Fëanor let out a low moan, while Erestor made a noise of pure ecstasy, his head back, throat exposed with his dark hair accentuating one side that in the shadows of the night, skin glistening, eyes closed, mouth open, body trembling, gave him an even more arousing appearance. “I want you so deep, so deep, so all I feel is you inside of me, you, delving so intimately. Just...fff….” Erestor turned his head away, catching himself over something.

But Fëanor would have none of it. “Tell me. Say it. I want your words. I want your thoughts. I want your everything.”

Courage regained, Erestor bowed his head slightly. Though no one else was there, his words were low, for Fëanor only. “I want you to show me your strength. I want nothing held back. Take me. Use me. Fuck me. Fuck me, Fëanor, fuck me so hard I feel it to my core.”

“Yes...oh, yes. Tell me what else you want.” Fëanor could feel the aching, the throbbing in his groin, but there was a heat stirring from Erestor’s words, and not just the words themselves, but the way the beautiful darkling looked down at him and dominated his submission was thoroughly exciting and something Fëanor hoped would be further explored in the future. “How do you want me to do it?” he prodded.

“Just like this,” answered Erestor. “With me, here…” Erestor’s breathing was slightly erratic, and he now seemed less sure of what he wished to ask for, so Fëanor tried to lead without coercing.

“Do you...want to hold me down again?” asked Fëanor. “Just make me try to finish without holding you?”

Erestor shook his head.

“So...exactly like this?” Fëanor gripped Erestor’s hips again, and again lifted him slightly before pulling him back down. He did this a few times, and they were both beginning to find a rhythm with it, yet he asked again, “Just this? Or...something else?”

Erestor looked at him longingly, then moved his own arms behind his back. His cheeks were flushed slightly, and he waited, only his eyes pleading now.

Fëanor managed to stretch enough to reach behind Erestor’s back. Instead of holding onto the closest wrist of each side, Fëanor maneuvered Erestor’s arms so that they were crossed behind his back before he gripped his wrists. This caused Erestor’s posture to be straighter, and also seemed to please him greatly from the sounds he made. “You are going to have to do most of the work now,” Fëanor managed without breaking up his sentence too noticeably. “Use your legs to lift up, then relax your body back down. You will feel all of me, just as you desire.”

There was only a little movement the first time as Erestor adjusted to the way Fëanor had him restrained, but the second time he committed further to the plan Fëanor laid out. Erestor strained a little to move without dislodging his lover, and when he relaxed as he had been told and felt the rush of being filled fast on his own accord, Erestor cried out and repeated the movements again, his voice louder the next time. Muscles he hardly knew he had control of squeezed tighter, and as he worked up to a frenzy, Fëanor put him over the edge with these words:

“Take it--yes! Take all of it--all of me. All of this is yours. Now, forever--fill yourself with me. Feel me within. Forever, within you. So full, yesss, bursting inside, feel me, Erestor! Feel this ache, this need, all for you! Take it all, all yours, only yours, and you--you are mine. Mine.” The last word came as a deep growl, eyes dark and wanting. Wanting of him, and only him.

Erestor cried out, felt the warmth inside of him, and rammed back, rocked his body, and tightly squeezed his muscles with every ounce of strength, his arms burning but feeling so good, to be caught in such a manner, so exposed, feeling both desired and desirous, and calling out Fëanor’s name, half a scream, raw in his throat, emotions fully exposed, without any shame at all. As soon as he looked down to see that he had released in a spray that covered not only Fëanor but the sheets as well, Erestor collapsed, draped over Fëanor, who was himself panting.

It took several minutes before either spoke, and it was Fëanor first. “I was trying to devise an itinerary, thinking about places to show you in Valinor, but I think we need some time to explore what is to be found in this room.”

“Yes,” was Erestor’s very tired but ever confident answer.

Fëanor waited another few minutes before he asked, “I should not be thinking about this, but I am, so I am going to ask--is it Elrohir or Elladan who...sort of, whatever that was you showed me, being dominant while still...not, exactly.”

Erestor giggled.

“What?” Fëanor poked Erestor’s nose when Erestor would not cease laughing, and snorted. “Fine, keep your secret, then,” he said with a playful sigh.

“Neither,” said Erestor.

“But you said…” Fëanor frowned. “Wait...do you mean…?”

Erestor grinned and nodded.

Fëanor tilted his head. “But he is so tall.”

This seemed to puzzle Erestor. “So?”

“So...I assumed a thing. That I should not have assumed,” Fëanor realized.

Erestor scratched behind his ear. “So...did you think, because you are taller than I am, that when we--”

“Look, I am new to this,” Fëanor half-apologized. “And, I clearly made some assumptions. Although, those assumptions sort of held up. Until you told me about Glorfindel.”

“Uh huh.” Erestor twirled a lock of Fëanor’s hair. “And now, you are thinking about it.”

“Damn right I am.”

“And wondering what it feels like.”

“Why not? We are married…”

“And trying to decide if we should be responsible adults, or if we have enough oil left and time before we are supposed to have brunch with Maglor for you to see what it feels like.”

“No one has ever accused me of being a responsible adult--I do not know why I should start now,” mumbled Fëanor. “Besides, Maglor is always late to everything.”

“I can believe that,” said Erestor. “In that case, the answer to ‘do we have enough time and oil’ is ‘roll over, sweet cheeks’--because I actually asked Maglor to cancel for tomorrow and come over the next day instead.”

Fëanor laughed as he did as he was instructed. “Not even here a day, and you already have it all figured out.”

“I had a lot of time to plan it all out for us,” teased Erestor as he dribbled the oil over Fëanor ‘s backside. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are three chapters that were added into this compared to the original -- and a nod to Saint Magloire just for funsies. Thanks for reading!
> 
> If you enjoyed reading and want to connect beyond AO3, drop by Discord's hottest new nightclub, Bunniverse. Follow updates to Bunniverse AU fics, my other writings, real life librarian stories, an entire channel dedicated to cheese (yes, the food group), and occasional photos of the animal friends that live in my house. Fall down the purple rabbit hole at https://discord.gg/CHqptmUnTp


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